City of Strangers (Luis Chavez Book 2) (10 page)

There was a long pause. Michael tried to imagine how the DA would spin this.

“He said all of this to you?”

“He did.”

“And he’ll testify?”

“If we can rope in the Feds to get him some kind of protection, yes.”

Another silence. “You know, they want me to suspend you.”

“I’m sure. But if we can prove the LA triad was behind the murder of a local priest, we could suddenly get a toehold into one of the most entrenched and elusive organized crime outfits this side of the Mississippi. We might never get a chance like this again.”

“All right,” she said, as if finally realizing the potential political capital that could result. “Be in my office in ten.”

“
This
is the house?” Jun asked as Tony led her inside. “It’s wonderful!”

Tony knew she’d like it but didn’t think her reaction would be that strong. As she flitted from window to window, taking in the sights, he could tell she was overjoyed.

“What’s beyond those hills?” she asked, pointing to the eastern view out the back window.

“The San Fernando Valley,” Tony replied. “Beyond that the Mojave Desert. After that? Las Vegas.”

Jun smiled. “I’ve always wanted to see Las Vegas. Though I’m sure nothing there can compare to the opulence of Macau. Have you been, Mr. Qi?”

“No, I traveled the province so little when I was a boy,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Leaving my village to come to Hong Kong was the first real jour—”

“No, silly!” Jun said, cutting him off. “Not Macau.
Las Vegas
. Have you been
there
?”

Tony admitted that he had. Jun demanded to hear all about it, clearly seeking stories of liberal excess. Without ever implying he took part, Tony reeled off tales of parties and events, show openings and galas, high-stakes gambling tournaments, and even Chen Jiang had to work hard to feign disinterest. She moved around, as if checking the different rooms for things to disapprove of, but was always in earshot.

Whenever he glanced at Archie, however, he saw a smug grin on the big man’s face. It wasn’t as if Tony didn’t know why. The driver had likely attended as many gatherings as Tony described, but also as a member of someone’s staff—hardly as the invited guest or bon vivant that Tony was painting for Jun.

“I wish I could go there on this trip, but I’d look absurd,” Jun said, patting her belly. “When you’re at home or going about the city you live in, you can dress however you like. But in a place like Las Vegas you want to look your best from the moment you wake up until you go the bed—and maybe even then, too!”

Tony found himself wondering who he’d have to be for someone like Jun, functionally a kept woman for a gangster, to want to be with him. He was no Kuo Kuang or Jim Jakey, wealthy businessmen with no morals. He’d known plenty of men like that. They regarded women as naturally inferior, something to possess and discard. Tony wanted an equal partnership like, strange as it was, the one he’d observed between Oscar de Icaza and Helen Story. They were ambitious. They had common goals. They complemented each other. Together they made a formidable team. That was the kind of relationship for him.

“Now that I’m through being an actress, I think I’d like to go into cosmetics,” Jun was saying.

“As a model?” Tony asked.

Jun laughed merrily.

“No, as a businesswoman!” Jun corrected him. “I’ve seen how these companies push junk on women, mass-marketing inferior products and herding women into flashy mall shops. I’d individualize the customer experience. Your beautician would be like your hairdresser or doctor. As fashions change, you would come to trust this person, and they would guide your look over time. Nothing screams ‘old woman’ like someone holding on to something that hasn’t worked for decades.”

“If you’re serious about it,” Tony said, though he heard Chen Jiang stiffen in her seat, a noise that even he knew meant he must proceed with caution, “I know some people here in Los Angeles who work in that industry. These connections are ones I’ve made strictly in an official capacity through my hotel, so they’re hardly personal and they owe me no favors. But if after the baby is born and you begin to establish yourself in Hong Kong—”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Jun’s face was frozen. Tony could see immediately that he’d gone too far, had made too bald an attempt to curry favor, and that she was already mustering a firm you’re-too-kind refusal that would close the door to further embarrassing back-and-forths like this one. The knock on the door just might be enough for Tony to save face and pretend he had said nothing.

“Mr. Qi?”

The man in the doorway was Dr. Martin Soong, dressed sharply in slacks and a tie. Tony eyed the younger man unhappily. The doctor was quick to smile and easygoing. He was also a doctor. If there was anyone Jun would actually be attracted to in this scenario, it would be him.

“Come on in, Dr. Soong,” Tony said. “We’re just getting acquainted with the new house.”

Martin shook Archie’s hand, warmly greeted Chen Jiang, who made an almost imperceptible head nod, and then bowed to Jun. She bowed back, then kissed him on the cheek.

“Welcome to my estate!” she exclaimed, indicating around. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

“Very much so,” Martin agreed. “Tony outdid himself this time.”

Martin glanced around for the nearest bedroom and pointed. “Shall we go in there for your checkup?”

“Of course,” Jun replied, nodding.

Tony moved to the door to exit, but Jun hurried after him and took his hand. She pulled him close and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you so much for finding such a great house,” she said just loud enough for Chen Jiang to hear before dropping her voice to a whisper. “And if you really know anyone in cosmetics, I’d be dying to meet them to explain just how we all could make a fortune back home.”

She broke away, flashed her smile, and followed Martin into the bedroom.

We all.
It was unambiguous.

“Good night, Archie,” he said, patting the big man on the shoulder as he left.

Outside, the midday sun bathed the city in gold. Tony walked to his car, the impression of Jun’s fingers still in his hand, her scent still in his nose. When his cell phone rang, he imagined that Jun had forgotten something, couldn’t bear to be away from him for so many seconds. When he saw it was Billy Daai, however, he became all business.

“Hello, Billy. What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Tony. There’s been some trouble. I need your help.”

Tony was relieved. He hadn’t forgotten his careless words from that morning. But Billy was calling him in need. Tony was more than happy for the chance to atone.

“Anything at all, Billy. Anything at all.”

X

Luis was stunned. He didn’t know what he expected to hear, but this wasn’t it. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Michael said, his voice distant and harried, not helped by the fact he was on his car’s speakerphone. “Sometimes these cases are downright impossible and it’s nothing but dead ends, and then other times, like this one it seems, you get what you need early on and then it’s just miles of paperwork from here until sentencing.”

“I don’t understand,” Luis said, surprised. “He just
 . . .
caved?”

“He did,” Michael said. “That’s the real world of criminals for you. The triad might’ve put the fear of God in him—no offense—but sometimes they go and rat on you anyway. It happens.”

Luis remembered his first time behind bars as a young man. Detectives had sweated him for three days even though he was underage. He hadn’t said one word about the gang he’d been affiliated with at the time. His reward? A vicious jumping-in initiation ceremony at the hands of his comrades and a full membership he rejected following the murder of his brother.

“It’s too easy,” Luis said. “They covered their tracks well. A lot of planning went into this. They’re not going to let him live.”

“No kidding,” Michael said. “Which is why the DA immediately signed the order putting him into protective custody. He’s already on the move. He’ll be surrounded by armed deputies in an undisclosed location 24-7 from here on out. But just to make sure, they’re going to swear him and begin the deposition process tonight.”

“They’ll use someone you don’t expect.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Michael sighed. “Father? Can’t you be happy about this? It is almost
impossible
to make a case against the Los Angeles triad. They’re so protected and legit in all the right ways they’re practically untouchable. But thanks to you we just might get a few of them on conspiracy to murder. That’s the kind of thing that sends a message. Suddenly they don’t look so monolithic. Makes finding witnesses who’ll testify the next time that much easier. If that’s not the Lord’s work, I don’t know what is.”

“What was the motive?” Luis asked. “Why did they want Father Chang?”

“We don’t know yet,” Michael admitted. “The fact that their lawyer, Jing Saifai, showed up was our first real confirmation of their involvement. Yamazoe wasn’t on the inside, or they wouldn’t have used him. So, he’s got no clue. Once we start to follow the money back, however, I’m sure we’ll come up with something. Any more questions?”

Luis had plenty but didn’t think he’d get the answers he wanted. There was one bugging him, however.

“The triad targeted Yamazoe not because he was a gambler but because they could establish a motive, since he was in Father Chang’s parish. Do you know if anyone in the church might’ve helped the triad find their mark? Chang was not well liked in the parish, it seems.”

Michael started to say something, then stopped himself. Luis figured he’d readied a quick reply, then realized Luis might have a point.

“That’s a good question,” Michael finally replied. “If I find out anything, you want me to tell you first or the police?”

“Don’t you have to tell the police first?”

“We’re partners, Father Chavez. It’s the least I can do.”

When Michael got off the phone with Luis, he called back Detective Whitehead, who’d rang every five minutes for the last half hour. He’d invited the DA’s office in as a courtesy, but now they were lifting away his suspect to use in a conspiracy case. His frustration over not being a part of the decision-making process was palpable.

“I brought you in on this,” Whitehead repeated for the fourth or fifth time. “I’m the lead detective. You’re the guy I make look good in court. Hopefully. One day. But now I’ve got deputy sheriffs and the FBI and the Marshals Service pretending to treat me with deference while really looking for any way possible to shunt me to the side.”

“We’re all on the same team, Detective,” Michael protested. “This isn’t about credit, though you know the DA’s office is all about shining a positive spotlight on the LAPD.”

“I don’t care about credit. This priest, it turns out, had a few friends in the community. Not business owners, not politicians really, but people from the neighborhood who come up to our officers and ask about the case. They liked him and don’t buy the rumors about this daughter, and they’re starting to hammer us about it. They want that tamped down before it becomes the story. You bury Yamazoe in some plea-bargaining cage for the next several months, and those stories don’t get refuted. They become the facts. Help me out here. Let me at least make a statement.”

“If it gets out that we’re thinking this is some kind of hit, they’ll know we didn’t buy the cover story, and the real villains could go to ground,” Michael said. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”

There was a pause. “You’ll see what you can do? Well, screw you, Michael Story.”

The line went dead. Michael gave himself a once-over to see if he cared and came up dry. Trying to make everyone happy was a good way to send everyone home mad.

The car clock read 7:22, which meant he was only a little late. Traffic from downtown to the Palisades, usually a nightmare, had cooperated. He had forgotten all about his oldest daughter’s science fair tonight until he’d gotten a text from Helen reminding him to come early, as there wouldn’t be much parking. George R. Clark Elementary might have been one of the best public schools in the city, but as it was tucked into a tiny exclusive neighborhood among the highest property taxes in LA, the one thing it couldn’t afford was enough land for a parking lot.

Michael finally found a spot eight blocks from the school. As he climbed out the car, his cell phone buzzed to announce a text. It was a selfie from Jillian that included her siblings and, in the background, Helen, with the caption,
Where are you?
He texted back that he was just parking and hurried down the sidewalk.

Things were stabilizing with Helen, he thought. The murder of his—he hated to call her his mistress—but the murder of
Annie
, the do-gooder lawyer who had first brought the Marshak human-trafficking case to his attention, had led him to reassess aspects of his life. Part of that meant being more attentive toward Helen. Though she wasn’t all that receptive to him in the bedroom, something he chalked up to her being tired from balancing her job and the kids, as well as the waning libido of a woman approaching forty, she did seem happier these days. Calmer. More centered and at peace with herself and him. There were other ways to be close than just sex.

He was almost certain that Helen didn’t know about his affair. Still, he performed little acts of contrition and penance, asked for or not. Some of that included showing up at events like Jillian’s science fair even though he had to work early, as he knew it made things that much easier for Helen, who then wouldn’t have to juggle three kids.

He plucked the phone back out of his pocket and looked at her photo. Helen was beautiful and smart and a great mom. Her family was wealthy, and one day they’d inherit the kind of fortune that would keep them comfortable for life. He’d won the lottery marrying her.

A silhouette approached on the sidewalk. Michael pocketed the phone as he recognized the man as Jeff Lambert, the father of one of his daughter’s classmates, who worked as a political consultant. From time to time he’d cornered Michael to take his temperature on political matters, but Michael was in a hurry tonight. He accelerated, readying an excuse, only for Jeff to stop short and block his way.

“Just the man I was looking for,” Jeff said, extending a hand. “How are you, Michael?”

Michael shook Jeff’s hand. “Good. Late for the science fair.”

“I’ll only take a second of your time then,” Jeff replied, gripping Michael’s hand. “Heard you had quite a day.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Michael said, pulling away, “but if I know my office, it’s probably two parts hogwash, three parts bunk.”

“At first we thought it was coming from Deborah herself,” Jeff said, scoffing. “Not that it’ll do her any good. That ship has sailed.”

We?

As if confusion was the very reaction he hoped to reap, Jeff smiled. “It’s about next year’s election,” Jeff said. “Deborah’s been looking for ways to impress us into supporting her reelection bid. But we’ve made our decision.”

Now Michael was confused. He hadn’t thought twice about next year’s political cycle. The mayor was as strong as ever and was a shoo-in for reelection. There were no challengers to the DA’s post that Michael knew about, despite the fact that the district attorney’s office was supposed to be a nonpartisan position.

“What’re we really talking about here?” Michael asked.

“The opposition is quietly floating Antonio Ramos, which is about as good as announcing he’s going to be their guy.”

Michael knew the name. Ramos was the DA in Orange County. He operated at the pleasure of local potentates, which included any number of big businesses and wealthy political donors. Ramos liked headlines, but he also liked being the sheriff of Disneyland. Michael had never heard even one word about Ramos having political ambitions on the LA side of the 605.

“He’s a joke,” Michael said. “No one’s heard of him. He’s never done anything. If you think Deborah wouldn’t wipe the floor with him in a general election, you’re insane.”

“If he was on his own or Deb was a decade younger, maybe, but the barons of the OC want one of their own in the governor’s mansion. They’ve decided that road passes through the LA DA’s office, and Ramos is the horse to back. They’re going to paper the town with his name. Massive TV buy, a poster on every signpost, endless public appearances. They’re going to have him at Dodgers games, Laker games, Galaxy games, Angels games—”

“Good thing Deb’s a Clippers fan.”

“This isn’t a joke!” Jeff said, still smiling. “We can’t match their spending, especially for a nonpartisan spot. And we’ve done the polling. Deborah could lose, and that destabilizes us all over the city. We can’t risk it.”

“So, what do you want from me?” Michael asked. “Are you looking for recommendations?”

“No, man. We want
you
.”

Michael laughed out loud. “I’m not just being humble here, but you really have the wrong guy. I don’t have the experience. I’ve never run for office. I’d be the youngest and least qualified in the city’s history.”

“That can be handled, even used to your advantage. What we can’t handle is losing the DA’s office. And what our polls tell us is that thanks to that human-trafficking case, your media profile is already through the roof. We pour a little fuel on that fire, particularly in the form of this triad business, and the election’s yours. And don’t worry about Deb. Gene Cuellear is retiring next year. We’re offering her the Thirty-Seventh Rep District as her consolation prize. Makes it look like Congress has always been her ambition.”

When Michael said nothing, Jeff leaned in close. “You think you’re not ready. That’s great. That’ll play. By the time anybody’s ready for this it’s generally too late. In your case you could be up against a powerful incumbent or already out of that office after Ramos sees what a comer you are. Just think about it, okay?”

Jeff released Michael and moved away.

“My answer won’t change,” Michael said.

Jeff laughed. “Talk it over with Helen. Call me tomorrow.”

Michael watched Jeff disappear, then thought to commit all this to memory for some future interview or memoir.

When did you know your life was about to change, Governor Story? Oh, you know, I was on my way to my daughter’s science fair one autumn night . . .

Life for Shu Kuen Yamazoe had never been so exciting. He’d been a gambler his entire life, getting to the point he lived for the high and nothing else. That is, until Chunling was brought into his life. As he’d told the deputy DA, they’d become friends. She snapped him out of his addiction so fast that he couldn’t quite believe the person he’d been the week before could’ve inhabited the skin he did now.

He didn’t even want to think what had happened to her. It was like a cruel joke. Convince him that maybe he wasn’t so disposable after all, then prove that he was. He knew as soon as the DA walked in that he’d give up the triad. If they’d given him some sense of hope, some belief that he’d see her again one day, if only to go to the planetarium, visit a farm out in the Valley, or even ride a rented pony in Griffith Park, he would’ve toed the line forever.