City of Strangers (Luis Chavez Book 2) (5 page)

“Dr. Auyong?”

“I’m off the clock,” Susan explained. “But there’ll be someone in there to help you.”

“My father’s a patient of yours. He saw you today?”

As that could be one of sixty to seventy people, Susan stared back blankly.

“César Carreño? I’m his daughter, Esmeralda. He was in for his hypertension medication.”

“Of course. Has he had an incident? If so, you’ll need to call 911.”

“Oh, no, no. His blood pressure is fine,” Esmeralda said. “But I think he’s coming down with the flu or something. He’s got a light fever, a sore throat. My son had it a few months ago, so I know the symptoms.”

“Then you should also know that it’s a virus and there’s not anything we could prescribe for him,” Susan said, trying to hide her exhaustion-born irritation.

“Isn’t there something?” Esmeralda pressed. “He’s in construction. He’s terrified of missing work, as they replace them so fast.”

Susan knew there was nothing, but she also knew that the young woman would persist until she was handed some kind of pill.

“Go in. Tell the receptionist you need two boxes of AnaPyr. It’s a prescription-strength ibuprofen. It’ll bring down the fever. Other than that you’re on your own.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor!” the woman enthused, and hurried past to the door.

“No problem,” Susan replied, so tired she worried she’d fall asleep on the drive home.

Luis dialed Michael’s number and waited. When the deputy DA finally answered, he sounded as if he had been pulled out of a deep sleep.

Guess that’s what the normal people are doing at two in the morning.

“Hello?” Michael said.

“Hope I’m not waking up your family,” Luis said.

“Nah, my wife’s still out with her girlfriends,” Michael replied. “You’re not exactly someone I expected to hear from again.”

“I heard from the archbishop,” Luis explained. “Nice play.”

“Thanks. I had to do something.”

“If I do this for you, I get the option to walk away at any time, particularly if it begins to interfere with my work at St. Augustine’s or St. John’s,” Luis said. “Is that acceptable?”

“Absolutely. Of course.”

“Also, I don’t want you calling me for updates. If I find something out, I’ll call you. Good?”

“Perfect,” Michael said. “What if I find something out?”

“Then you can tell me if and when I call. How long do I have before the letter gets made public?”

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “It’s the kind of thing that leaks. And once it’s out there, you can’t put that genie back in the bottle.”

“Got it,” Luis said. “One more thing. You’ve been out to San Gabriel. There are dozens of lawyers out there. How come Yamazoe picks some
barrio abogado
like Caesar deGuzman?”

There was a pause. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll follow up. Thanks.”

Luis hung up and sank back onto his bed. What bothered him now wasn’t anything that Michael had said or the words of the archbishop. Rather, it was the feeling he’d received from God when he sat in prayer after the call. At first, there had just been a deep sense of foreboding like none he’d ever experienced. When the words finally came, they were simple and to the point.

This is only the beginning.

Michael put his cell back on the nightstand and stared up at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t figure Luis out. He’d known contacting the archbishop was drastic, but it had worked like a charm. He had his secret weapon back and, knowing Luis, the priest wouldn’t rest until he uncovered something, at least. Whether it was an unhappy truth about the late Father Chang or an actual motive mattered little. The case would be put to bed, and there’d be another feather in Michael’s cap to show for it.

But it was his own ready acceptance that troubled him. This had gone from a quick favor to using an untrained outsider to investigate a brutal murder. Was there any part of him, however small, that relished putting the priest in harm’s way?

One less person who would know his sins.

He quickly banished this thought. If Luis was somehow killed, his connection to Michael would be discovered, and only bad things could come of it. But that he’d even thought of it made him wonder just how corrupted his mind had become.

He glanced over to Helen’s side of the bed, seeing only the silhouette of her bare pillow. He saw less of her these days, as her real estate business was starting to take off.
A high-profile client,
she’d said. He was glad of it, as she deserved success. It alleviated the guilt he felt over cheating on her. She wasn’t pining for him; she was going out and doing things for her, which included blowing off steam with some of her friends at—what had she said tonight was? A nineties mash-up party at a dance club?

Whatever it was, he was happy if she was.

V

The five young men clad all in white—white hemp shirts and pants, white headbands, white sashes, and white straw sandals—crossed a narrow bridge made up of only two wooden planks and moved under an archway of swords. The Vanguard and the Incense Master, both in red silk gowns with red headbands, waited in front of the large statue of Guan Yu, the third-century general who helped establish the state of Shu Han. Smoke billowed from a cauldron, where a large fire burned.

“What abilities do you possess?” the Vanguard asked the first of the five initiates to the triad.

“Honor and loyalty to my brethren,” the young initiate replied, using formal Mandarin and bowing deeply in deference to the older man.

“And what shall happen to you if you dishonor your Hung brothers?”

“I shall be killed with knives!” he shot back.

There was little light in the banquet hall set up for the initiation ceremony, but Tony didn’t need to see to know exactly how the ritual would proceed. As he stood with the other members of the triad—ranking members in red headbands, but all in suits instead of silk gowns—he thought back to his own initiation ceremony with pleasure. He’d been nothing before, a mere Blue Lantern, the lowest on the totem pole as far as the triad was concerned. Then everything changed.

“If the police were after your brothers and offered you gold for information, would you be loyal to your brothers or take the gold?” the Vanguard demanded.

“I would be loyal to my brothers!” the initiate cried.

This time the Vanguard answered by slapping him across the back with a flexibly bladed sword. The initiate didn’t flinch.

“Kneel,” the Vanguard ordered.

The first initiate knelt and raised his hands in front of him, palms together as if in prayer. The Incense Master came over and placed five lit sticks of incense between his fingers.

“The oaths,” the Vanguard said.

The initiate nodded as smoke rose around his head. Tony wondered if he’d managed to memorize all thirty-six oaths. It was hard to go first.

“I shall never betray my sworn brothers!” the initiate swore. “I shall not disclose the secrets of the Hung brethren! If I rob a sworn brother, I will be killed by knives!”

Tony’s eyes traveled to the last of the five initiates. Though he was sure the young man, Billy Daai, had memorized the oaths, arranging for him to go last so he could hear the others say them first just to be sure hadn’t been difficult. Billy was his godson after all, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him, which of late had included securing Billy’s new job with one of the liquor distributors that delivered to his hotel.

Billy was a good boy and a quick study. He understood that learning about the products was as important as being able to anticipate the needs of both client and vendor. On nights he had off he moved across the city trendspotting in clubs and restaurants. He was handsome and lean with a gregarious nature he put to good use insinuating himself into any group or situation. He was always the first to know what was gaining popularity in the city and provided this information gratis to those for whom he served as a go-between. Even better, he used longer holidays to travel to New York, Miami, Las Vegas, and London to see and experience those scenes as well.

“I’m worried that he’s caught up in the lifestyle,” Billy’s uncle, Lichun, told Tony at one point. “He’s always buying fancy clothes and going to parties. You see he’s driving a Maserati now.”

“He’s not driving a Maserati,” Tony had gently corrected. “He has one leased that he keeps in a garage. During the week he’s either in his Sentra or in the delivery truck. The clothes are like the Maserati—part of the uniform that gets him into places of exclusivity. I have never seen him drunk. Not once.”

Tony reflected on this as his godson’s turn came and he kneeled to recite the thirty-six oaths. What Billy then said took everyone in the room by surprise. Well, not what he said, but how he recited it: in an older, more classical pronunciation of Cantonese.

“I shall not cause discord among my sworn brothers by spreading rumors, or I will die by five thunderbolts,” Billy announced. “After entering the Hung brethren, I will forget all grudges I may have previously held against my brethren, or I will be killed by five thunderbolts.”

As Billy went through the oaths, there were a few murmurs around Tony. He imagined some were critical of Billy for wishing to stand out, but others would understand it as a sign of deep respect for triad tradition.

When Billy finished, the Vanguard moved down the line with a needle, pricking the fingers of each initiate. A wineglass was produced and the drops of blood were collected from each. Tony heard the clucking of the live rooster, albeit a heavily sedated one, as it was brought into the room in a basket by two other men in traditional dress. Tony stepped forward and handed over a knife, his tiny walk-on role in the pageant. The rooster was cut under its chin, and the blood added to the glass.

“On this date these Blue Lanterns have died and passed over,” said the Vanguard, reading from a scroll he’d kept in a leather pouch at his side for the duration of the ceremony. “They are now reborn through binding righteousness into the Society of Heaven and Earth.”

This scroll was added to a cauldron in front of the statue of Guan Yu, and the embers soon rose to the rafters. When the last bit was burned to ash, the initiates were allowed to stand and be recognized by the others with applause.

“Congratulations, Billy,” Tony enthused, taking his godson’s hands in both of his.

“Thank you,
zūnjià
,” Billy replied, bowing deeply. “I am glad you could be here to take part.”

“Your father will be so proud,” Tony said, his tone turning more serious. “You honor him today.”

Billy nodded. His father had begun serving a twenty-year sentence in Lompoc prison for heroin trafficking three years earlier. His sentence had been extended, however, due to bloody altercations with the Mexican mafia and various other prison gangs, from the Aryan Brotherhood to the myriad incarnations of Crips and Bloods. Though the senior Daai had been a fairly low-level member of the triad when outside the prison walls, he’d quickly become a unifying and stabilizing presence within the organization on the inside.

As his reputation as a prison leader increased, respect for his son did as well.

“I heard about the Indiana businessman,” Billy said. “At the hotel.”

“What are they saying?” Tony asked.

“A couple said they would’ve kicked the guy’s ass right there in the lobby. Everyone else said you achieved the same result without lifting a finger.”

Tony Qi, the outsider. Tony Qi, the street hustler who’d gained the respect of the most powerful Chinese businessmen in Los Angeles. Tony Qi, the triad’s number-one fixer.

“Good. Maybe they’ll follow that lead and stay out of prison.”

He knew his words were a mistake before they even left his mouth. Even if he hadn’t, the look of disgust and anger that flashed across Billy’s face drove the point home. Though it disappeared just as quick, Tony straightened himself and bowed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“No, I know what you meant,” Billy replied. “And you’re right. These hotheads will end up in prison for nothing one day. But maybe your example will help.”

Billy excused himself. Tony became flushed. What had he been thinking to demonize prison to a young man whose father was incarcerated? Slights could go unforgiven for years, if not lifetimes. How could he have ruined the young man’s day in that way?

Of course, he knew what he’d been thinking about. She’d been the only thing on his mind since he’d met her twelve hours before. She’d been so merry on the drive, so full of life and mischief, that he’d found himself delighted in her presence.

Tony wasn’t insane. Making an overture to Jun Tan of any sort was outside the realm of possibility. In fact, it’d be the quickest way to find his head and hands separated from his body. But he hadn’t met anyone quite like her in some time, if ever. It was as if she knew the role she was meant to play and had decided to subvert it, at least while she was in America.

How curious and clichéd of him to find attractive someone who couldn’t be more his opposite.

The previous night Tony had been under strict orders to take Jun from the airport to the hotel with no stops. But as they cruised down the Sunset Strip, Jun had announced that she wanted to stop and get out. There were small packs of young people moving up and down the sidewalks toward the various restaurants and clubs. She wanted to be among them and cloaked the request by saying she was hungry.

Archie had shot a look first to Tony, then the “aunt,” whose name had been revealed as Chen Jiang. Jiang looked at no one directly, but Tony saw that she was watching him carefully in the reflection of her window to see how their host would handle this.

“Most of the restaurants along here are booked up this time of night,” Tony had announced, producing his cell phone. “But if you see one you like, I can call and find out if they’ll make an exception.”

Jun had smiled. It wasn’t a smile of relief at hunger soon to be satisfied, but one of gratitude. He’d chosen her over the dictates of some faraway keeper. She’d soon spotted a tucked-away place with a courtyard surrounded by trees. Tony made the call, and they turned around to pull up to the valet station a moment later. Though Archie was clearly uncomfortable with the breach in protocol, Jun lightened him up with her tales of Hong Kong’s wild nightlife and the adventures she’d had before the child in her belly tied her down to Kuang. Before their entr
é
es arrived, the driver was eating out of her hand.

Tony tried to speak to the aunt, only to discover that she was not from Hong Kong but Jinan. She was an old hardliner still waiting for Mao to self-resurrect and punish the degenerate capitalists. He wanted to tell her that the late Communist Party chairman secretly lived a life more decadent than any of China’s new money vulgarians could even imagine, but he doubted it would go over well.

So he let her stew and had enjoyed Jun’s stories late into the night.

As he turned to leave the Blue Lantern ceremony, his thoughts returning to how he might erase the implied insult to Billy’s father, he spotted one of the triad’s most prominent lawyers, Jing Saifai, entering the back of the small restaurant in which the triad held their observances.

As a woman she had no place at triad functions. Even more so, as a prominent attorney she could hardly be seen at such a place. Tony idly wondered how long she’d waited outside. A passerby might’ve thought it odd seeing such a well-dressed woman standing outside a closed restaurant at this hour.

The biggest surprise, however, came when she approached Billy Daai, bowed, and leaned in close to speak to him. The show of deference was likely due to it being a special day for the young man, but the intimacy of their conversation that followed was unusual. Tony didn’t even know the two were friendly.

She must have something to do with one of Billy’s endless new schemes and businesses,
Tony decided.
He was always looking for that new marketplace to exploit
.

He averted his eyes for fear of offending Billy twice on this day and moved away.

“He was filth, plain and simple,” declared Father Ian Siu-Tung, the parish pastor of St. Jerome’s.
“Filth.”

Luis was kneeling beside the door to St. Jerome’s Chinese-American Catholic Church’s rectory, staring at the two bullet holes in the frame. Though forensics had come along to pry out the fragments, he could still make out splinters of lead.

“I don’t know if he was even liked by the congregation,” Siu-Tung continued, as if unhappy with Luis’s lack of response. “He could be arrogant and self-righteous. That’s not me talking out of school, either. He’d say that to your face. He was far more interested in the secular world than most priests I’ve known. He had his own money, you know, and would go on these trips and retreats, only to come back frustrated with the way we did things in Los Angeles.”

Luis put his hand on the concrete. It was already warm from the early-morning sun, giving him the sensation that Father Chang’s body had only just now been lifted away.

“Did you know he even had his own apartment in the city? He didn’t think we knew about it. That’s where we believe he must have had the assignations with that poor girl. I guess he thought he knew better than God as to what a priest was allowed in this life, particularly when it came to the promise of celibacy.”

Luis finally turned to the priest with a cold eye. Celibacy wasn’t the question. Statutory rape was. And murder. Luis was starting to believe that Father Chang might’ve been right to be frustrated here.

“Celibacy in the priesthood came about in 1139 at the Second Lateran Council,” Luis corrected. “It was never an edict of God.”

Luis didn’t admit he knew this only because his own parish pastor used it to justify his long-term affair with a laywoman, but he enjoyed the derogatory look on Father Siu-Tung’s face regardless.

“Impudence,” Siu-Tung added, waving away Luis’s correction. “That was something else that branded Father Chang. Impudence.”