Forged in Honor (1995) (17 page)

"She wouldn't have done that. You would-you don't appreciate anything-but not my Jill. She loved my stories."

"Da-aad?"

"Okay, maybe a few times she pretended."

Stefne laughed softly and looked up at the stars. "I miss her, Dad. I really miss her."

Josh felt a familiar ache. "Me too."

They remained silent for a long time, each absorbed in memories. Finally Josh broke the spell. He reached out and patted his daughter's hand. "I know I'm not doing a very good job of being a 'Father Knows Best' kind of dad, but I wanted to tell ya ... well, I'm real proud of how you turned out."

Stefne smiled in the darkness and took his hand. "You're doin' okay." Leaning over, she kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder. "Dad, it's been a long time since Mom passed away. I want you to know that if you find someone who makes you happy ... it's okay with me."

Josh gave her a gentle hug. "I'm happy, hon, but thanks."

"Are you, Dad? I mean, are you happy living on a boat all alone with just the Front for a family?"

"I've got you."

"But I'm not going to be here all the time. What will you do when I'm gone?'

Josh hugged her tighter. "I'll think about it when that day comes. Let's not talk about it."

She sat back and looked at him. "Dad, I'm worried about you. You're getting as weird as Meg. You won't wear a watch except at work, you putter up and down the river all morning playing that god-awful music. You scull or play racquetball in the afternoons and then work all night. You own only two ties and drive a rusted-out Jeep. And nobody owns an eight-track anymore. Dad, you need to get a life."

Josh shrugged. "I enjoy what I do. I'm as normal as the next guy. And I want you to know my eight-track works great. I get the tapes for almost nothin'."

"You call catching turtles normal? Dad, people are talking about you."

Josh stretched his arms and looked back up at the stars.

"Don't worry about me, hon. Your old man ain't over the hill. Not yet, not by a long shot." He pointed at a star. "That one is yours, remember?"

Stefne nodded. She was wasting her time trying to change him ... but she'd known that for years. She saw that he was still looking at the stars and knew he was with her mother again. She got up and walked quietly to the cabin, telling him in a whisper that she loved him.

Chapter 10.

6 June.

The waitress saw her regular walk in and sit down at his usual table at the window. She poured a cup of coffee, picked up the morning paper, and walked over to set them both in front of the early riser. "The usual?" she asked, smacking her gum.

Josh glanced at the headlines, then at the waitress. "Yeah, Jean, and don't forget the-"

"Yeah, yeah, hot sauce. I know. You don't have any taste buds left, Josh. You've burned them off with that stuff."

Josh's eyes gleamed. "Just feed me; I need it for strength.

Today is the day."

Jean eyed him as she chewed furiously on her gum. "You said that last week and the week before that. You remind me of my husband when it comes to taking me out. He says yeah, sure, but he don't deliver."

Josh took a sip of coffee and waved his hand as if brushing her away. "Go away, nonbeliever."

She rolled her eyes, swung a hip into his shoulder, and strode for the kitchen. Josh read the first three paragraphs of the lead story and felt his chest tighten. Burma again. If the press only knew the truth, he thought.

A disheveled, middle-aged man with a receding hairline walked into the cafe and pulled up a chair beside Josh. He took a gulp of Josh's coffee and held out his hand. "Gimme the sports."

Josh tossed the sports section down without looking at his new tablemate and continued reading the front page. Jean headed for the table but the balding man waved her back and barked, "The usual, Jean, but how's about not burning the toast this time, huh?"

Jean smirked and smacked her gum. "Yeah, yeah." Sticking the pencil behind her ear, she turned around and headed back toward the kitchen.

Josh finished reading the front page and turned to the second. "Who won?"

Detective Terrance Kelly, of the Narcotics and Special Investigations Division for the District of Washington's Metropolitan Police Department, shook his head as he read down the box scores. "Nobody that counts." He lowered the page and tapped the paper in Josh's hands. "Who's winning in the world?"

Josh sighed and dropped the paper to the table. "Nobody.

Hey, tell me the truth. Am I gettin' weird?"

Kelly gave his friend of four years a "what the fuck?" look but saw that he was serious. He shook his head and picked up Josh's coffee cup again. "Well, you're a little strange, but compared to the weirdos I deal with every day on the streets you're a regular A number-one citizen. What's up? Stef worried about her ole man?"

"How'd y'know?"

" 'Cause you wouldn't listen to nobody else. I know you, remember? I carry your ass on the racquetball court and make the excuses when you fuck up."

Josh took the cup away from his friend and took a sip before looking out the plate-glass window. "It's tough gettin' old ... how's it feel when you're over the hill?"

Kelly bristled. "Hey, I'm not even close, look in the mirror, Hawk, and answer that one."

Josh began to retort, but Jean set a plate in front of him.

"One Hawk special, cheese and onion omelet, hash browns and sausage gravy over it all. Eck, what a mess. How can y'stand to even look at it, let alone eat it?"

Kelly frowned as he looked up at the woman. "Last week it was a 'Kelly's special.' You playin' favorites, Jean?"

She cocked up a painted eyebrow. "Josh 'tips' and he says `today is his day.' "

Kelly snorted a half-laugh and picked up his fork. "Yeah, he said the same thing last week." Reaching over, he cut an end off of Josh's omelet and stuck it in his mouth. Chewing, he looked up at Jean and waved his fork at her to emphasize his words. "He ain't never gonna catch him except in his dreams."

Josh gave them both a sneer. "Today is the day. Just you both wait and see."

Jean and Kelly exchanged looks and shook their heads, knowing he was hopeless.

Ten minutes later both men had finished their meals and second cups of coffee. Josh glanced over at his friend. "Any new skinny on the streets?"

Kelly picked his teeth with a toothpick. "Same old shit.

Crack went up another quarter a bag, hero is gettin' a little scarce. Better keep the boys checkin' the parking lots. The freaks can get a kick by tradin' in a car CD player. Oh, yeah, the Intel boys say we got a bunch of new Chinks in the city.

The Intel weenies are puttin' the scare tactics on us, sayin' it looks like a takeover. They told us all to read up on that report about the Chink takeover in that Canadian city. When you fucked off that six months with us, you told me all about it. You know."

"The Vancouver model?"

"Yeah, that's it. The Vancouver model. Remember it, Hawk? You knew it inside and out and even briefed my guys on it."

Josh shrugged. "Sure, it's the report on how the Chinese syndicate took over Vancouver."

Kelly gave his friend a sidelong glance. "Look, be a buddy, huh, and tell me about it again. I didn't get a chance to read it last night 'cause--"

Josh rolled his eyes. "Mary on your case again?"

"Hey, just get to the bottom line, will ya? I don't need the third degree here. Mary wanted me to have some quality time with the twins. I took the whole crew to Chuck E Cheese's, spent a fortune playin' their gee-whiz arcade videos and even ate their lousy pizza. I need a little refreshing, that's all."

Josh shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. "Poor Mary. I don't know why she even bothers with you. Okay, for Mary's sake. The Vancouver model is a study on how the Chinese syndicate moves in and takes over the action. They work in at least six layers. The first layer is the pushers and recruiters. They get their dope and exchange the cash from sales with the second layer, the block lieutenants. We're not talkin' Chinese unless it's in Chinatown. The syndicate uses the existing locals, paying them a little more money for their loyalty. These local lieutenants work for the third layer, the district captains. These captains are tough, no-shit action boys who pack serious hardware and do the enforcing. They make big bucks and keep a stable of enforcers, muscle, and informants. They do the bribing and whacking if necessary. According to the Vancouver model, the district captains are usually the best of the Jamaican, Latino, or black players who know and totally understand the game. The captains take all the risks; they distribute the product and keep a close eye on their lieutenants. These captains report to the fourth layer, the majors, who stay clean and do the wholesale business.

Now we're into the smart guys. These majors work through a series of front men, all previous captains who earned the right to move up. These front men are super loyal to their majors, and are your principal wholesalers of product. They keep it stored and accounted for. The majors are where you find your first Chinese syndicate boys, and from here on up we're talkin' strictly family members. They make themselves untouchable by the law and let the front boys take the fall if anything goes down. Unlike the Mafia, these guys didn't work their way up the ladder picking up dirt along the way.

They don't swing, party, booze it, throw money away, or do anything that makes them blackmail able or usable by the law or competitors. The majors report to the colonels, who run respectable businesses and supply their assigned majors with dope, set priorities, and make the payrolls. Here we also find specialty colonels who do nothing but handle the books, money laundering, shipping, packaging, et cetera. The colonels report to the San, the lord, the big boss. He is the number one and has on call a complete stable of high-priced lawyers who cover his family with paper if the feds or police get lucky. This San is a boss for the Triad in Hong Kong, which means unlimited funds. This guy pulls all the strings and makes all the big decisions, but he never gets personally involved in anything dirty."

Kelly had kept nodding his head as Josh was speaking. He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I know that stuff. I thought it was more scientific, y'know? Thanks, Hawk. I owe ya."

Josh's interest was now aroused. "Wait a minute, you don't get off the hook that easy. Do your Intel boys really think they could have a Vancouver model moving into D. C.?"

Kelly tossed down his old toothpick and picked up a new one. " 'Fraid so. The Chinese gangs down in Chinatown have straightened up their act big-time. Somebody who has discipline has set them straight. The word is that the independent wholesalers have been told to play ball with the new boys in town or get out. We've put a couple of teams in to keep an eye out, but right now it's all talk and no action. The West Coast sent us some books of photos of the guys who are supposed to have moved in here. My boys have spotted a few, but so far they're playin' it cool. Hawk, you wouldn't believe the names. They're all Wang and Dong and Ye and Fe. Shit, I'm gonna have to get a Chink cop from the West Coast just to keep the names straight for us if they start some action.

I'm not real worried yet, but something is definitely going on. The independents are runnin' scared, and they don't scare easy."

Josh looked out the window with a vacant stare. "That's not good news, my man. The Triad boys don't play around.

They go for the jugular early to make a statement. When I was on the task force I went to Hong Kong for two weeks for some briefings from the British, who laid it all out for us.

The Brits had been trying for years to penetrate the Triad but couldn't get past first base. Whenever the police started getting close, the Triad would go after the cops' families or blow up a few bombs in buses full of civilians. That way the authorities knew the price of waging war against them was going to be very high. The Triad doesn't play by any rules, and in every case the cops had to back off. The Brits said the only way to get to the Triad was to expose its leadership. Cut the snake's head off, as it were."

Kelly smirked. "Fat chance of that in the good old U S of A. The Hong Kong cops ain't got the American Civil Liberties Union lookin' over their shoulders. Enough of this Chink shit. What about you? You pick up anything I could use?"

Josh lifted his coffee cup with a wry smile. "Yeah, maybe.

The Chizo brothers had a pair of high-priced working girls with them while they were throwin' big bucks around in La Rivage last night."

Kelly's eyes narrowed and he became all business. "How big? What denominations?"

"Three hundred a pop for premium vino. They had four bottles plus the best meals in the house. They paid in hundred-dollar bills."

Kelly's upper lip crawled back in an evil smile. "Those boys are dumber than a box of rocks. I'll pass it on to Whitey. He needs a stroke. Thanks. Hey, our game is at two so--ah shit, why am I tellin' ya the time?" He glanced at Josh's bare left wrist. "Be there, asshole, on time for a change. Take a sundial out with you on the hunt, but be there. It's the D-ones down in Vice who beat us last week."

"We didn't lose, we were just settin' them up," Josh said with a crooked grin.

Kelly rolled his eyes, got up, and headed for the door, talking over his shoulder. "Get the check, will ya? Mary forgot to give me my allowance. I'll get it tomorrow. See ya at two."