Stealing the Dragon (28 page)
Sally plummeted headfirst toward the factory floor.
She was a black blur in Cape’s peripheral vision as the automatic jumped in his hand, the slide cycling backward with the spent cartridge ejected from the chamber. The roar of the shot deafened Cape instantly, leaving only a ringing in his ears. He couldn’t hear Shaiming’s gun fire but saw the muzzle blast of the revolver, shards of cookies stinging his face as the mountain of fortunes next to him exploded.
Cape adjusted his aim and squeezed off another round.
The second shot slammed into Shaiming’s chest, knocking him back on his heels as Cape fired again, hitting him in the gut this time. The revolver flew from Shaiming’s hand as the back of his head hit the floor, the gun spinning across the cement and bouncing off the wall.
Sally tucked her chin to her chest and reached behind her head, drawing the
katana
from its scabbard as she turned 180 degrees in mid-air.
Pivoting on his right heel, Cape saw Wen draw a palm-sized automatic and point it at him. He was going to fire before Cape completed his turn.
Sally landed directly in front of Wen, coming up from a crouch with her sword raised, her left foot leading her right.
Wen staggered back a step but kept the gun up, his eyes wild. Cape couldn’t see Sally’s face, but Wen’s expression changed with a flash of recognition, his eyes narrowing as he pointed the gun at Sally’s chest.
Slow motion took over.
He’s got her
, thought Cape, rocking onto the balls of his feet, his legs feeling glued to the floor.
No one’s that fast, not even her.
He felt the heat of the gun across his fingers, the sweat in his eyes, the weight of his own heart as it tried to beat faster, but he couldn’t see past Sally to get a clear shot.
The door at the back of the room slammed open and bounced off the wall with a sound like a gunshot, so loud even Cape could hear it. All heads turned as Xan kicked the door again as it swung back at him, Lin cradled in his arms.
It took a fraction of a second for Wen to see Xan was unarmed, but it was enough. He snapped his head back toward Sally and, sensing movement, squeezed the trigger.
Sally swung the
katana
in a vicious arc, stepping into the cut as the blade cut through flesh, her momentum pushing the sword as her weight shifted. Wen’s head flew from his shoulders like the cork from a champagne bottle, tumbling in mid-air before landing dead center in the pile of broken fortune cookies.
Wen’s torso wobbled for an instant before crumbling, the gun clattering to the floor, a trail of smoke coming from the barrel.
Sally stood over the body, her nostrils flared and her eyes wide, the edge of her sword glistening red. She lowered the sword and turned toward Wen’s head. Taking a step closer she spat, her saliva landing right between the eyes, still open and frozen with fear.
Cape took a panicked step toward Sally but she held up her hand and he froze. Reaching beneath her shirt, Sally tugged at something between her breasts. When her right hand reemerged it held the dragon’s heart, still wrapped in cloth but with a tear across the fabric where the bullet had been deflected. Sally looked at Cape and shrugged.
Cape felt dizzy and realized he’d stopped breathing. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he turned to look at Xan, who was standing over Shaiming, turning the man’s head to one side with his foot.
“You have good timing,” said Cape.
Xan nodded, jutting his chin toward Shaiming. “You shot him?”
“I had to,” replied Cape, feeling the weight of it settle in his stomach.
“Never apologize for killing someone,” said Xan gruffly, sounding like a math teacher Cape had in the tenth grade. “Especially if they deserved it.”
Cape gestured toward Lin. “How is she?”
Both men turned as Sally crossed the factory, her attention focused on Lin. Xan squatted and sat on the floor, cradling Lin in his lap like a child. A small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.
He said, “She’s leaving us, little dragon.”
Sally ignored him, touching Lin’s face with her right hand.
“The bomb?” asked Cape. He hadn’t heard an explosion, but after the first gunshot he hadn’t heard much of anything.
Xan shook his head. “Disarmed. I pulled the detonator from the plastic explosive.”
Sally looked at him. “Poison?”
Xan nodded. “Wen killed her long before we arrived,” he said. “She just refused to die before you got here.”
Sally felt something stir against her hand. Lin’s eyes fluttered open, her lips coming apart with a wet crackling sound. Sally pressed her face against Lin’s, holding her head in both hands, their noses touching.
Sally’s voice was barely a whisper. Lin’s eyes rolled around before focusing on Sally. Her mouth moved in slow motion. Cape couldn’t hear what they said, but tears sprang from Sally’s eyes and fell onto Lin’s face. Cape had never seen Sally cry. After a moment he blinked, his own eyes welling up.
The three stayed there, unmoving, Sally sobbing silently, Xan watching her, Cape trying to absorb everything that just happened. It was a long time before Sally sat up and ran her hand across Lin’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, she stood and looked around the room, as if she’d forgotten where she was.
Cape touched her shoulder. “We have to leave,” he said softly.
Sally looked at him and nodded. She had stopped crying, but her eyes told him she was somewhere else.
“Do we leave them?” asked Xan, waving a hand toward Shaiming and Wen’s bodies. “Or take them to the tunnels?”
Cape caught Sally’s eye and spoke very deliberately. “If they don’t find Lin, they’ll think you were on that ship.”
Sally held his gaze but didn’t respond. It took Xan a moment but he got it, turning to Sally and saying, “He’s right, little dragon.” Then to Cape he said, “You have a plan?”
Cape’s eyes never left Sally’s as he answered.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”
It was almost 7:30 in the morning by the time Cape walked into the Hall of Justice on Bryant Street. After passing through the metal detectors, he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, where Homicide Detail was located. Many of the desks were unoccupied, and the small office at the back was empty.
Vincent Mango sat behind his desk, black hair slicked back, dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit, yellow tie, and loafers. He looked more like next month’s
GQ
cover than a homicide detective.
Cape gave him a wave, crossed the room, and took a seat in front of the desk. He checked his watch, then nodded at Vincent.
“Where is everybody?”
Vincent looked around the room as if he hadn’t noticed. “It’s that time of day. Most of the bad shit happened already, in the middle of the night, so we got people on the street. And the bad stuff that’s gonna happen today, well, it hasn’t happened yet. Still too early in the morning.”
“Where’s Beau?” Cape jutted his chin toward the desk behind Vincent.
“Went home about two hours ago,” replied Vincent. “You know how he hates this time of day.”
Cape nodded. “I’m here to make a statement.”
“I heard,” said Vincent, turning toward his computer. “Beau told me. Said you were supposed to come in last night.”
“I fell asleep.”
Vincent turned and gave Cape a look, just for an instant, that said
keep the bullshit to yourself
.
Cape asked, “You want to hear it or not?”
Vincent pulled a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and turned back to his computer, fingers on the keyboard.
“You’re not going to write it down?” asked Cape, motioning toward a yellow pad on the desk. “Beau always writes it down first.”
“You ever seen my handwriting?” asked Vincent. “Even I can’t read it. Besides, what do you care?”
Cape shrugged. “Curiosity.”
“Killed the fuckin’ cat,” said Vincent. “You sent us a picture of a dead guy—or a guy who looks dead—only we can’t find him. How’s that for a start?”
“OK.” Cape talked for several minutes, getting the occasional look from Vincent but otherwise without interruption. When he had finished, Vincent swiveled in his chair and took off his reading glasses.
“That’s it?” he asked. “You found a body and didn’t call?”
“My phone wasn’t working.”
“You ever hear of a pay phone?” demanded Vincent. “Or 911?”
“You know how hard it is to find a pay phone in this city?”
Vincent thought about that for a minute. “Yeah, it’s impossible. They pulled ’em all out once everybody started carryin’ cell phones.”
“Exactly,” said Cape. “How about getting a cab?”
“A taxi?” said Vincent. “Even worse—you know, the other night the wife and I were—” He caught himself and scowled at Cape. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Sorry, Vinnie,” said Cape. “It’s fun to see you get worked up about these things.”
“I got Beau busting my balls all day, thanks,” said Vincent. “Him, I gotta work with. You, I could arrest if I wanted.”
Cape held up his hands. “Point taken, Detective Mango.”
“So get to it.”
“What?”
“The point, dickhead,
the point
. Where’s the fuckin’ body?”
“I don’t know,” said Cape, shrugging. “I told you already—I found it by Harold Yan’s office—you talk to him again?”
Vinnie shook his head. “He’s not around, least not yesterday. We call or stop by and his secretary says he’s out shaking hands, tryin’ to get elected. He’ll be back soon.”
“You check the office?”
“No way. Yan is connected. Guy’s running for mayor, for chrissakes.” Vincent dropped his voice a few notches. “Excuse me, judge, but we have this picture that might be a dead body—but we’re not sure—and it might have been in front of Harold Yan’s office—but we’re not sure—and we were wondering if you could give us a warrant to search his offices, even though he’d call the press, accuse the current mayor of harassment and get us all fired.” Vincent shook his head. “How’s that sound?”
“You need probable cause, huh?”
“You must watch those police shows on TV,” said Vincent. “What I need is a dead body.”
“Sorry, all I’ve got is a picture.”
Vincent started to respond when the phone on his desk rang, loudly. It rang like a real telephone, before you had to plug phones into an outlet and they started chirping like birds. The bell on Vincent’s phone was loud enough to wake a dead man.
Cape watched as Vincent cradled the phone in his ear and dragged a yellow pad across his desk. After a string of
uh-huh, when, yeah, right away
, he said, “And tell them not to touch anything.”
As he hung up the phone, Cape asked, “What was that?”
Vincent looked at Cape for a moment before answering.
He said, “
That
was probable cause.”
At the precise moment Cape started talking to Vincent Mango, an explosion destroyed Harold Yan’s office on Grant Street.
The second floor windows facing the street were blown out, sending a light snow of glass onto parked cars. The ceilings on the first floor cracked, plaster hitting the hardwood floors in clumps, but the real damage was contained to the second floor. Xan had used just the right amount of plastique. Neighboring buildings were untouched. A fire started in the reception area outside Yan’s office, which seemed to be the source of the explosion.
The fire department arrived within ten minutes from the station less than four blocks away, knocking down the door and rushing up the stairs. At first they feared a gas leak that could spread to other buildings until they realized Yan’s offices used electric power and heat. That was when they considered arson. But when they found the body of a dead Asian male with gunshot wounds to the chest in Yan’s office, they didn’t know what to think.
Ten minutes later Vincent’s phone rang.
As he grabbed his coat, Vincent told Cape they weren’t finished, would talk later, and Cape just nodded. He walked to his car and waited a few minutes before pulling away from the curb. By the time he approached Grant Street, the block had been cordoned off, the cop cars and truck from the medical examiner stacking up next to the fire engine. Cape kept driving.
He desperately wanted to sleep but forced himself to drive down the Embarcadero to park in front of Town’s End restaurant, known for serving one of the best breakfasts in the city. Cape knew the owners and wanted to be seen in public for a few more hours. He also didn’t want to go home just yet. If someone wanted to find him today, he didn’t want to make it that easy.
He grabbed a table next to the window and nodded at the cooks behind the counter, managing a half-assed smile. He felt his eyes go to half-mast and thought about ordering coffee but knew he’d hate it when it arrived. He thought of Agent Williams and waved down the waitress to order iced tea and scrambled eggs.
Cape wasn’t hungry when the food arrived, and after an hour the tea was eating a hole in his stomach. He’d been holding the paper in front of him but couldn’t remember a single sentence. The radio behind the counter finally broadcast a news update that mentioned the explosion at Yan’s office, but it didn’t give any details. He felt his stomach cramp up and walked to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face, then washed his hands. They looked clean, but he could still see the blood all over them.
He dried his face and looked in the mirror but couldn’t find any answers in his own eyes. He turned away and stepped back into the restaurant to find someone sitting at his table.
John Williams looked up from the paper and smiled.
“Your eggs are cold.”
Cape shrugged. “Lost my appetite.”
“That’s too bad,” said Williams. “I just ordered.”
It almost made Cape smile as he sat down. “Coffee?”
“You bet,” said Williams. “And eggs and hash browns.”
“Bacon?”
“Goes without saying,” said Williams. “Getting your appetite back?”
“We’ll see.”
“Most important meal of the day.”
“It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Yeah, but these folks serve breakfast all day,” said Williams. “Your kinda place.”
Cape nodded absently. “How’d you find me?”
Williams jerked a thumb at the window. “Not that many beat-up convertibles in this town, where everybody’s gotta own a Lexus or a Mercedes. ’Sides, you parked on the biggest road in the city. Figured I’d check the streets in front of the breakfast places first.”
Cape felt himself relax. He reached for his tea, reminding himself why Williams was such a good cop.
“What’s up?”
“There was an explosion at Harold Yan’s office this morning.”
Cape pointed to the radio. “I heard that,” he said. “What’s the deal?”
“Bomb went off,” said Williams, getting right to it. “Plus they found a dead body.”
“Yan?”
Williams studied Cape for a moment. “Heard you sent the
po-lice
a picture.”
He hadn’t answered Cape’s question, an old cop trick. “So it wasn’t Yan?”
Williams shook his head. “Another fella, Asian male in his thirties.”
Cape concentrated on keeping eye contact. Liars always drift. “He died in the explosion?”
“He might have, if he hadn’t already been shot.”
“And you’ve never seen this guy before?”
“I haven’t, but that don’t mean much,” said Williams. “But it turns out, he’s got a record.” He took a sip of coffee and looked over the rim at Cape, adding, “He’s not the guy in your picture, though,” making that last part sound almost like a question.
“You sure?”
“I’m never sure,” replied Williams. “Plus it was a shitty photo.”
“I took it at night,” said Cape. “With a digital camera.”
“What did the cops have to say about that?”
“They’re pissed,” said Cape. “Said I should have stuck around.”
“They’re right,” said Williams. “But you had someplace you had to go, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Don’t suppose you were awake at seven thirty this morning?”
“Sure,” said Cape. “I was over on Bryant Street, talking to the police.”
Williams raised his eyebrows and his mouth twitched, but he stopped the smile before it appeared. “That’s quite an alibi.”
“I’m flattered,” said Cape. “But shouldn’t you be talking to Harold Yan?”
Williams leaned forward on his elbows. “See, that’s the problem. The police had the same idea, and after they found the dead guy, no judge is gonna stop them from going over to Yan’s place and letting themselves in.”
“So?”
“They found an unidentified female in her late twenties, minus one finger, Harold Yan, and Harold Yan’s head.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah, all three of ’em,” replied Williams. “Yan’s definitely dead, so’s his head, and the girl’s been shot with a small caliber automatic, clutched in Yan’s hand.”
Cape grimaced and looked down at his plate. He could still feel the kick from Yan’s gun in his hand and see the small hole in Lin’s chest. Leaving Sally’s sword next to Lin was easy, but shooting a girl he once hoped to save wasn’t something he could shrug off. Sally told him it didn’t matter, Lin was dead and gone, but even she turned away after they spoke of it. It was Cape’s plan, and something he had to do alone.
When he looked up, Williams was watching him closely.
He said, “Seems Harold Yan wasn’t who he appeared to be.”
Cape met Williams’ gaze and held it for a minute, then nodded. Williams was giving him an opening.
“No, he wasn’t,” said Cape. “He set up the smuggling ring.”
“You saying Michael Long is innocent?”
“No,” said Cape. “I’m saying he’s stupid, and he broke the law, helped finance the operation. But Yan arranged for the ship, then when it went bust, he killed the guy in the warehouse and put the finger on Long.”
“You can prove this?”
“No,” said Cape. “But I can tell you Yan used a middleman, the guy in my picture.”
“Who was he?”
“He was supposed to be a bodyguard for Freddie Wang, but he was really working for Yan.”
“Doing what?”
“Making an impression on Michael Long, getting the money, scaring the shit out of him,” said Cape. “That was Yan’s idea, to frame Freddie Wang if the cops started looking any deeper. If Long identified the guy, no one would connect him to Yan, so Freddie ends up behind bars.”
“This middleman…you killed him?”
“No,” said Cape without hesitation.
Williams nodded and said, “Probably Freddie. Don’t suppose he’d be too happy about one of his guards two-timing him.”
Cape felt at least one of the knots in his stomach unwind.
He had accounted for all the killings except for the guy in his trunk, who obviously had been in the process of planting a bomb underneath Cape’s car. And Cape had rejected the theory that the man suffered a sudden heart attack but had just enough strength to lock himself in the trunk before he died. His neck had been broken by a professional.
Cape knew Sally had been going out on patrol at night and asked her about it. At first she just looked at him, her green eyes betraying nothing, but after a moment she smiled and said, “Don’t mention it.”
He never would.
Williams delicately picked up a piece of bacon between two fingers and took a bite. “That button you gave me, Yan gave it to you?”
“Yeah,” said Cape. “Figured you’d get to that right away, with his name on it.”
“Still talking to Interpol, but they’re pretty excited, want to know why I’m asking about some dude who’s been dead for ten years.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Said he was busy running for mayor,” said Williams. “Want to know what else?”
Cape waited.
“Once the cops finally called us, we checked the dead girl’s prints.”
“And?”
“They were all over the ship.”
Cape nodded. “Case closed?”
“Kinda neat,” said Williams. “Don’t you think?”
“You mean everybody being dead?” asked Cape. “Seems kind of messy to me.”
Williams took another bite of bacon. “Remember when I said you weren’t all that interesting?”
“How could I forget?”
“Changed my mind,” said Williams. “Know what that means?”
“You started a file.”
Williams nodded. “Sorta have to, if I want to keep my job, but it’s no big deal. In your case, there ain’t jack shit to put in there ’cept random bits of information that seem to come to you from above.”
“You leading up to a question?” asked Cape. “’Cause I noticed you have this roundabout way, sort of like you’re sneaking up on me.”
Williams chuckled. “You gonna tell me how you came by this information on Harold Yan?”
Cape seemed to think about it. “Not today,” he said. “That alright with you?”
Williams pursed his lips. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said slowly. “You obviously ain’t one of the bad guys, and truth is, this case’d be nowhere if you hadn’t stirred things up.”
“You think I stir things up?” asked Cape indignantly.
“Don’t push it.”
“OK,” said Cape, holding up his hands.
Williams glanced at Cape’s plate, the eggs runny and frigid. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
Cape looked over at the waitress, then glanced back at Williams. “You buying?”
Williams shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“What the hell,” said Cape. “Maybe I’ll have some pancakes.”
