by Rhys Ford
“I hope you have more for me than the witness I just interviewed.” Kane playfully kicked at the agent’s foot. “And get out of my chair.”
“You can always tell someone who’s had an older brother,” Alex said to Kel as he stood, rebuttoning his suit jacket. “They are always quite possessive of something they think is theirs.”
“You think he’s possessive about the chair? Try checking out St. John’s ass. He goes from Lucky Charms to Giantsbane in the blink of an eye.” Kel dragged over a spare office chair. “Here. Unless this conversation needs an office.”
“No, it’s actually going to be very short. The only reason I waited for you was because I knew that you were coming in. My boss wanted me to have a talk with your captain, who pretty much turned to me and said you were going to run with anything I gave you.” Alex tapped at a slender folder lying on Kane’s desk. “The department has decided to release information on the agents who worked the Wong case. Of the five who’d gone undercover, only a couple are still active, and one of those is currently in Washington heading up a research department. The rest of them are scattered about California, but two still live in the city, including the active agent.
“The other papers are lists of associates and informants, including what information that DEA used on the case. I don’t know what good it’s going to do you, but it might lead you to someone who knows where Wong is. Criminals like routine, even if the world changes while they are inside prison. A lot of them drift back to the exact same patterns they had before they went in.” Brandt ignored the chair, perching on the edge of the desk. “With regards to the agents, the only thing the agency asks is that you approach them respectfully and understand most have hung up their badges a while ago, so they could run the gamut between fuck you and bend your ear off. If you run into any problems, you can certainly reach out to me, but I can’t promise you anything.”
“You have no idea how much this is going to break our case open for us.” Kel grinned widely. “I had a feeling we were going to have to knock on every single damned door in Chinatown just to find the bastard. Somebody in here has to know where we can find Wong.”
“I’m still going to bet that the nephew is looking for him too.” Kane let Kel rifle through the folder first, peering over his partner’s shoulder. “I think Chin was retaliation. Everything we have on Wong says he’s impulsive, but he didn’t like to waste resources. He’s not one to kill Chin just because he fucked up the market shooting.”
He had too much information to absorb all at once. The names were a blur, mostly Asian, and most of the women Wong had working for him were Thai. The DEA agents’ file was smaller, barely thumbnail photos with sparse information, a few phone numbers and a couple of addresses for the former undercover operatives, but nothing else. Kane took a moment to stare at the scatter of squares across the pages, trying to see Miki’s features in any of the men or women, but they were grainy black-and-white copies, obscuring the fine details of individual faces.
“These would be better if we could get them electronically.” Kane glanced up at Alex, who shook his head at the cops. “Or I guess we can try to hunt down if SFPD has more on them.”
“Chances are you’re not going to get a lot on the DEA personnel, but your criminal records might be able to help you flesh things out. These were a long time ago, Kane,” Alex reminded him. “You’re lucky you even have this digitally. Some poor guy probably stood in front of a scanner for hours trying to upload past records, and it was just pure luck he did these. We’ve got decades of reports that are still sitting in boxes, waiting for somebody to go through them.”
“Look at the dates on these things.” Kel handed Kane one of the pages. “Half of these people have been dead since about the time Wong was incarcerated. Makes the list shorter, but if Adam Lee has his mother to draw information from, he’ll know who to target to cut Wong’s knees out from under him. Chin is pretty much decimated. Do you think Lee would have gone to that extreme? Or could it have been one of Wong’s people taking Chin out to gain favor with the old man?”
“I don’t think we can rule that out, but, to me, something that brutal was drawing a line in the sand for Wong to cross. There’s also the matter of Rodney having a brother that’s gone missing,” Kane pointed out. “If both of them were working for Wong, I wonder if the guy who went after Miki in Vegas was Mark Chin. If it was, then Wong is down two people he could count on. We just have to find out who’s left and try to get to them. They might lead us to Wong if Adam Lee is going after Wong’s associates.”
“Yeah, provided Lee leaves you anyone to find,” Alex replied. “Still, it’s hard to stay loyal to a guy who’s been locked up for a few decades if teaming up with him gets you killed. That’s not a good bet to take. Not if Wong is dying, because when he’s gone, you’re still going to have to deal with the nephew.”
“See, that just opens a bigger can of worms.” Kane looked up. “If Wong’s associates are few and far between, and he doesn’t have a lot of time left to him, he’s going to want to hit the bigger targets. Have you told the agents who worked the case that Wong’s gunning for people?”
“As many as they could reach, but that’s not something they don’t run into every day.” The agent gathered up his keys from the desk, pocketing them. “These guys ran with some of the very heavy hitters in the city. Quite a few of them didn’t make it to see retirement. If there’s anything they’re good at, it’s living while looking over their shoulders. Like I said, if you feel like you need to reach out to them, just keep in mind they came from a different department than I do. I know a couple of those guys. They don’t like to stay inside of the lines. For guys who wore a badge for a living, most of them really hate authority.”
“Well, shit, if that isn’t proof that one of them is Miki’s father, I don’t know what is.” Kel smirked, elbowing Kane hard. “Because if there’s anybody who doesn’t like to be told how to act or when to stay in the lines, it’s your Miki.”
Chapter Fourteen
Kane: (reading one of Miki’s notebooks): Cherry cola kiss? The things that go through your head, a ghra. What the hell does that even mean?
Miki: (takes a sip of soda, kissing Kane and sliding a bit of liquid into Kane’s mouth with his tongue) That.
Kane: Why don’t we go into the bedroom and you can show me what else that tongue of yours can do. And bring the soda.
—Red Notebook Musings
CHINATOWN WAS asleep by the time Kane unlocked the warehouse’s front door. It’d been an easy ride through the district’s streets. He’d hit the sweet lull spot when the restaurants were closed and the early morning crews hadn’t quite filtered in to begin their shifts.
Red and gold banners were strung up between the buildings in preparation for the coming moon festival, high enough to allow trucks to pass through the streets without tangling on the wires. The verdigris pagoda streetlamps sparkled, recently cleaned by a collection of benevolent societies and a couple of church groups. Here and there storefronts gleamed with a slap of new paint, but the awesome garishness of the district’s spangled and effusive imprint remained. Until he’d moved into the warehouse, Kane hadn’t really appreciated Chinatown’s chaos. It’d taken falling in love with a mercurial singer to show him the kaleidoscope of life whirling about him, a hectic dance of colors, languages, and cuisines he had only just begun exploring.
If he’d never met Miki, Kane didn’t know when exactly in his lifetime he would have discovered the snacking deliciousness of whole deep-fried garlic cloves, especially when drenched in a shoyu-chili oil dredge.
A few doors down from the warehouse, the bakery Miki bought egg tarts at lit up, prepping for the morning rush due to hit in less than a handful of hours. Behind their main counter, a round-faced older man hefted large bags of flour onto a worktable while another sped through pallets of eggs, cracking them one by one into an enormous metal mixing bowl. Kane made a mental note to stop by and grab moon cakes early
in the week before all that was left were the ones with an egg in them, an atrocity that would offend his lover on levels Kane hadn’t realized even existed before he’d met Miki.
“For a guy who has the eating habits of a five-year-old, he can be pretty fucking picky.” Kane let himself into their home.
Then stopped short when he realized someone was sitting on the peninsula counter between the dining area and the kitchen, a dark silhouette with its back to the front door. A rustling of something plastic carried over the long space. Only one of the recessed lights was on, keeping the kitchen area dim. The rest of the house was dark, illuminated sporadically by the electronic devices set up under the large-screen TV in the living space and the night-light left on in the bathroom.
Kane intimately knew that shape, having explored that delectable body with his mouth and fingers over the past few years. Dude hadn’t so much as whispered a peep at Kane’s entrance, long inured to the sound of the Hummer coming home. Whatever Miki was doing, he was lost in thought because he didn’t so much as glance behind him when Kane put away his gun, then shut the front closet door. Kane shed his shoes and then his jacket, draping it over the back of the couch as he walked by. The dog gave a murmured woof but didn’t stir from the mound of pillows he’d nested on.
“No, don’t get up,” Kane grumbled at the canine. “I wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out greeting me hello when I come home at night. Let’s go see what our Miki is up to in the kitchen.”
Miki looked up when Kane entered the kitchen, his hazel gaze a bit unfocused and thoughtful. He had a half-unwrapped ramen packet in his hand and was fiddling with the dried noodles, breaking them apart. The smile Miki gave him washed away nearly all the darkness Kane’d rolled in that evening.
In that moment, under the dubious romantic lighting of a dimmed LED bulb, Kane was struck by how much he loved Miki St. John.
They hadn’t started off on the best of footing, mostly due to Kane’s Irish temper and Miki’s aggressive detachment and inscrutability. Looking back, Miki, about fifty pounds short back then and too lean by far, should have been cowed by Kane’s height and breadth. Fueled by his frustration, Kane had thrown everything he had at the tall, lanky, pretty man who’d opened the door, glanced down at the thieving canine who’d violated Kane’s shop, then categorically denied owning the dog even as Dude trotted past him into the warehouse.
Miki hadn’t so much as blinked.
Instead, he’d squared his shoulders and told Kane not only to go fuck himself but how to do it and what sex toys he could use to make sure it hurt. Kane hadn’t wanted to respect the man he’d come to tear apart, but a glimmer of awe and admiration settled in then. He’d spent three decades herding younger brothers and sisters with little more than his voice and an ingrained sense of authority. His siblings listened to him more than they listened to Connor, probably because they knew Connor’s tender heart lurked beneath his bluster. But Kane usually meant business and got results.
Until that day.
Back then Kane hadn’t seen the pain in Miki’s face or how he held himself. All he’d seen was the erotic pout of Miki’s full mouth, the snarling defiance in his tumbled emerald-and-citrine eyes, and the punch of graceful sensuality in the way he draped himself against the doorframe.
He still saw all those things. He’d scraped back the prickly, aggravating nature the feral street rat used to defend himself and discovered the still-not-too-gentle soul underneath. Miki had fire in his soul, an eternal ember of something visceral and raw that drew Kane in every time. The wildness of Miki’s spirit excited him, provoked him into living life with a fierce enthusiasm, something Kane hadn’t really considered until he’d met the musician.
Falling in love with Miki had been frustrating, exasperating, and nearly killed him, but something shifted in Kane, making him finally understand why his older brother ran into dangerous situations with nothing more than a bulletproof vest and a heavy arsenal behind him. Living with and loving Miki was as close to being on a SWAT raid as Kane ever wanted to get.
And probably just as dangerous.
Not many men could say their lover eyed them suspiciously as they approached, but it was a look Kane knew well. Especially when Miki was huddled over food. Grinning despite the fatigue pulling at him, Kane stood in front of Miki and placed his hands on either side of his lover’s hips, parting Miki’s knees so he could press in between his legs.
If anything, the suspicious look grew even more feral and territorial.
Kane was man enough to admit it kind of turned him on.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Kane murmured, pressing a kiss against the corner of Miki’s mouth. He tasted of slightly salty doughiness and was still chewing when he returned Kane’s kiss.
“Want some?” Miki tilted his hand, offering Kane access to the crumbled, uncooked ramen noodles.
Oddly enough, that tiny gesture spoke more of Miki’s love for him than anything else he could have done. Kane was struck speechless, unsure how to speak around the swell of his heart in his chest. Cupping Miki’s face, he stared into the beauty he found there, amused by the slight lift of Miki’s upper lip and the confused frown narrowing his eyes.
Miki put another pinch of noodles into his mouth and chewed. “What? I took out the flavor packet. Not like you couldn’t taste it was foil if you put it in your mouth.”
“For the life of me, I do not know why you eat that shit.” Kane grabbed a single ripple of uncooked noodle and popped it in his mouth. It tasted as disgusting as it had the first five times he’d tried one in a misguided attempt to understand its attraction to Miki’s taste buds. “No, it still tastes like shite.”
“I like how you get all Irish when something goes really bad.” Miki chuckled, helping himself to more ramen. “This tastes like—I don’t know—it’s just something that makes me feel better when my head gets all noisy. Kind of like you do.”
“I sure hope to God I taste better,” Kane mumbled, sliding his hands up Miki’s legs, feeling his warmth through the low-slung cotton pants he had on. His SFPD shirt hung on Miki’s smaller frame, but the singer often wore his things to sleep in. “I can’t tell you how much I love seeing you in my clothes when I come home. Makes it extra special taking them off of you. Where’s your brother and my cousin?”
“Upstairs, asleep.” The suspicion was back in Miki’s eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want to do very naughty things with you on top of this counter, and if they’ve already gone to bed, there’s less chance of them coming through the front door and catching us.” Kane hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Miki’s pants, tugging at them. “Actually, someone possibly catching us makes it even more naughty.”
“Hold up. We have a no sex in the kitchen rule, remember?” Miki put the ramen packet down, then closed his fingers over Kane’s wrists, stalling him. “If I recall you said: ‘We have to cook on these counters. I’m not eating off of anything where somebody’s ass has been.’ You give me shit for just sitting here.”
“Sometimes, Mick,” Kane murmured, bending in to capture Miki’s mouth, “rules are meant to be broken.”
“I’m going to remember you said that when Sionn catches us doing this,” he growled into Kane’s kiss. “Because if I get thrown under the bus for this, I’m taking you with me.”
“Living room couch, then?” Kane suggested, nibbling down Miki’s neck. “We’ll just have to kick the dog off.”
“What’s wrong with our fucking bed?” Miki grabbed at Kane’s shoulders, hissing as he was picked up. “Dude, you’re going to drop me. Fuck, why did I name the dog Dude? Kane!”
“When are you ever going to trust me not to hurt you, Mick?” Kane cupped Miki’s ass and slid one hand up to the middle of his back, cradling his lover against his chest. Miki’s legs were hooked around his waist, his thighs tight around Kane’s middle. He trembled in Kane’s arms, his throat working as he held himself tight, and sucked in a breath when Kan
e walked them out into the living room. “I’m not going to drop you, babe. I will never drop you.”
“Shit happens,” Miki reminded him. “I’ve got a couple of scars on my knee to prove that to you if you need it.”
“Dude, move.” Kane nudged the couch cushion with his knee, and Miki tightened his grip. The dog opened one eye, then slowly slithered off the sectional. “Mick, you’ve got to let go a bit. I’m going to put you down now. You know, most people would think this is romantic. Me carrying you over to the couch is pretty high up there on the romantic gesture scale.”
“Most people are idiots.” Miki released his grip on Kane’s neck as he was lowered onto the sofa. He breathed a sigh of relief when cradled in the cushions, then glowered up at Kane. “How the hell was that romantic? Like I couldn’t have walked over here by myself?”
“It means that I’m taking care of you.” He tugged at the hem of the shirt Miki had borrowed from him, pulling it up over Miki’s chest. “That I don’t want you to do anything but relax and enjoy yourself.”
“That’s just fucking stupid.” The sneer on Miki’s face could’ve curdled fresh milk. “I don’t need to be carried around. You forget, K, I’m not going to break. I don’t expect you to treat me like I’m going to, either.”
“You are about as romantic as that potato over there, but God help me if I don’t love you for it.” Kane stripped Miki slowly, taking his time to kiss and lick at nearly every inch of exposed skin.
Getting himself naked took a little bit more work, especially since Miki’s hands were busy exploring everything from his belly button to the inside of Kane’s thighs, but eventually he got free of his clothing. Chuckling, he returned to the task at hand, teasing Miki into a state of frenzied arousal. At some point the dog left the room, but Kane didn’t see where Dude went, nor did he care. The thought of Damien and Sionn coming down the stairs fled his mind, and he was happily ensconced in a world that existed only as far as the ends of the sofa and containing only the man he loved.
