Cole Shoot Page 11

“Give her all of it. I’m not sure what value it is to her.” Cole said flatly.

  Hanna looked crest fallen. She turned and started back for her desk completely deflated.

  “Hey,” Cole called out.

  Hanna turned slowly, “Yeah.”

  “Nice work. Thank Randy. You guys earned your keep for the month. Nice to have you on board.” Cole smiled, sensing he had thanked her just in the nick of time. “Were you offering coffee earlier?”

  “Yes! Coming right up!” the lights came back on in Hanna’s eyes and she spun around, head up and shoulders back.

  Cole had no way of reaching Luis. If the Chou kid was connected to any of the Tongs, this just became way bigger that just getting Anthony back. The guys were going into a fight with an enemy using automatic weapons, carrying box cutters and a couple of pop guns.

  Cole picked up the phone and punched in the number for Leonard Chin’s cell.

  “Cole, what’s up?”

  “Tell me about Cheung Chou.”

  “Really? Where this come from?”

  “Trying to give a new friend a little help. You know him?” Cole wasn’t giving anything he didn’t have to.

  “Never met him. His name comes up from time to time. He’s one of those in-the-shadows Tong guys. Respect and privilege without getting his hands dirty.”

  Cole hesitated before his next question. “Connected enough to get his kid off two or three felony raps?”

  “So, what is this really about?” Chin replied.

  “Nothin’ yet. Turning over a few rocks and some odd bugs are showing up.”

  “There have been rumors of deals and the occasional blind eye being turned to Chinatown crimes. Can you give me a for instance?”

  “Not yet.”

  Chin cleared his throat. “I can see through you like cellophane, Sage. Listen to me. Leave these people alone. They have been playing their game for a hundred and fifty years. You, my friend, can begin to understand the rules. They can make irritations disappear and me, or anybody else, will ever know what happened. So, whatever it is you’re sticking that nose of yours into, drop it. There are other Chinatown stories. The parade shooting wasn’t Tong, I can guarantee you that. If somebody’s kid was involved let us sort that out.” Chin paused. “Or not.”

  “Thanks,” Cole said.

  “Just don’t ignore what I said.”

  “Talk to you soon.” Cole disconnected.

  “Have you called Corwin yet?” Cole called out to Hanna.

  “Not yet, you have her card. I was waiting ‘til you got off the phone.”

  “No problem. I take care of it. I have more info for her.”

  Cole fished around his desk looking for California Corwin’s card. He found a fist full of receipts, coupons, other people’s cards, but no Cal Corwin.

  “You’re sure you don’t have it?” Cole inquired.

  A moment later Hanna was in the door, reaching for the phone. Stuck under the right corner of the phone was a card that read, ‘California Investigations’.

  “This it?”

  Cole grinned sheepishly and said, “Good thing it wasn’t a rattlesnake.”

  “Might have helped. Maybe you would have heard it rattle.”

  Hanna returned to her desk and Cole shrugged. He hated cards with two numbers. It meant you have a fifty-fifty chance of having to dial again. He decided on the cell number.

  “Cal Corwin.”

  Bingo! Cole thought. “Ms. Corwin, Cole Sage.”

  “Well, hello. How am I so honored?”

  “I have some information for you.”

  “Really?” Corwin truly sounded surprised.

  “Your client, Mr. Chou. How well do you know him?”

  “Not well. Like I told you, he was a referral,” she replied.

  “Here’s what I got. He’s Tong, deep Tong. He’s got a kid who’s in a street gang. Firecracker Boyz, You know them? FCBZ? They are the number one suspects in the New Year’s Parade shootings. The kid has a miraculous way of getting out of drug, weapons, and assault charges without seeing the inside of a court room. These are dangerous people. Here’s a theory. Somebody snatched her to get back at the brother. I’m thinking Norteños.”

  “Great. One problem with your theory. She packed a lunch. Took clothes.”

  “It doesn’t take away from the fact that you are sniffing around some very private people who make people who get to close disappear.”

  “I appreciate your concern. But I’ve danced with some pretty scary partners. Besides, Mr. Chou is my client. Why would he hurt the one trying to find his daughter?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t find said daughter.” Cole was beginning to wish he hadn’t called.

  “Oh,” Cal said flatly. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Sage, but I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was a cop for over ten years. I have been shot, cut, and had the shit beat out of me on numerous occasions. Don’t let the scar on my face fool you. I was blown up. Get it? A bomb went off in my face. I’m still here and could kick your desk jockey ass in half a heartbeat. I appreciate your thinking you need to warn me about a few street punks and a bunch of old men. But really, I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sorry. I missed the part after “thank you, Mr. Sage,” Cole said brightly.

  The line went dead.

  “Hey, remind me I don’t know that Corwin woman the next time she calls.”

  The phone on Cole’s desk rang. “Sage.”

  “Too late,” Hanna called through the door.

  “Sorry,” A voice said softly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” Cole replied.

  “I said ‘I’m sorry’. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.” Cal Corwin’s voice raised an octave.

  “Apology accepted. You really do need to work on your people skills.” Cole laughed.

  “I know. I know.” Cal laughed too. “One thing bothers me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How come you know so much about the Chou family? What’s your connection?”

  Cole got up and closed his door.

  “Sage? Sage! Are you there?” Cole heard Cal yelling as he picked the phone up.

  “Yeah, I’m here. I had to close the door. Listen, I like you, you got a certain....”

  “Irrefutable charm?” Cal interrupted.

  “No, I was going to say ‘chutzpah’,” Cole chided. “Look, it seems we are on the same path, kind of, with completely different purposes. I’m going to let you in on something, but I need your word it goes no further.”

  “Done.”

  “Your client’s son, Ricky, is an active participant in the kidnapping and imprisonment of my intern, Anthony Perez. I sent him to Chinatown to gather background for my story on the Parade shootings.”

  “When was that?” Cal asked.

  “Three days ago.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I might need your help? I have to tell somebody or my head will explode? I just need someone to tell me it will be OK? To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

  “What do the police say?” Cal asked.

  “They don’t know.”

  “What? You haven’t reported it? Why not?” Cal’s voice increased in volume.

  “The leader of the FCBZ, a stoner named Trick, was very clear in his demands. If they aren’t met by tomorrow noon. They will, ‘feed him to the sharks’. “

  “What’s he want?”

  “Wants his cousin released from police custody. He’s being held in connection with the Parade shooting,” Cole said, as he tapped his pencil repeatedly on the desk.

  “You want me to help get him back? Is that what this is?”

  “It’s being handled,” Cole said coldly.

  “Meaning?”

  “The way they would do it.”

  “Hold on, Sage. You’re no Bruce Willis. You don’t know the first thing about dealing with gang warfare.” Cal took a significant pau
se, then said, “Do you?”

  “No. But Anthony has friends that do. They’re here and have promised me they’ll get him back.”

  “Let me tell you something, my friend, if this goes south, if someone is killed, you are an accessory and a co-conspirator in a gang related felony homicide. You will never see daylight again. If you live past your first gang confrontation in lock up. What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking Anthony is the closest thing I will ever have to a son. I would be right there with them if they would let me. I have no clue as to how and when and what they are about to do. I didn’t ask for it, but I have complete deniability.”

  “Who are these people? Mission guys wouldn’t be that dumb.”

  “They’re from out of town. Anthony was no angel before I met him. He’s gone to school, and is working on his Masters. He is completely out of that life. He doesn’t know I called for help. He knows less than we do. We just know who has him.”

  “And how exactly is that?” Cal asked.

  “I met with them. I met the top dog. I went looking for Anthony and stumbled into their path, probably the same way he did. These guys have that Tong connection, carries into the SFPD. They are like Teflon.”

  “What about your buddy, Lieutenant Chin? What’s he say about all this?”

  “I haven’t told him.”

  “Shit, Sage, you are crazy. He is the only clean cop in Chinatown.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell him. I don’t want him dead, or disgraced, or God knows what.”

  “So, what do you want me to do?”

  “I wanted you to know we are linked. I didn’t want you blindsided with Chou family shrapnel.”

  Cole played with a paperclip with the tip of his pencil. For some reason, confiding in Cal Corwin lifted a heavy weight off of Cole’s shoulders, chest really. He felt for the first time there was a plan. Luis and his guys, knew what to do. They would die trying, And that was more than anyone could ask.

  “I will keep my ears open. I have a friend, employee kind of. Did you call your out of town friends on this line?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have him scrub it. No more calls, Sage. None, zero, zip. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “If there is anything you need, anything, call.”

  “I appreciate that but...”

  “You told me. I either call the cops or become part of the plan. I don’t have a lot of love for cops lately.”

  “Thank you, Cal.”

  “Not yet. Maybe never.”

  “No, for just giving me some clarity.”

  “I don’t see how, but I’ll take that.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Cole said.

  “I hope not,” Cal chuckled. “Oh, and I really wouldn’t kick your ass. I could but I don’t think I will.”

  The line went dead.

  “That’s a comfort,” Cole said to himself.

  ELEVEN

  “I’m tired of Tamales. They make my stomach hurt.”

  “How ‘bout a granola bar?” Marco inquired.

  “I want real food. I really want noodles. That would feel good to my stomach.” Mei half groaned, half whined.

  “I don’t have any money,” Marco apologized.

  “I have some. My mama always gets me food that is soft in my stomach.”

  “Mei, we have to stay here. This is where we live now,” Marco pleaded.

  “I’m hungry for noodles.” Mei was growing more and more upset. “We been up here forever. I want fresh air. I miss school. I want to go home.” Mei began to cry.

  “OK, we will go get some noodles. OK Mei, let’s go get some noodles. We will buy you noodles. Then come right back. OK?” Marco was beginning to gently rock back and forth.

  “Really?”

  “We will go get noodles for Mei.”

  Mei moved quickly to her backpack. Unzipping the front pocket she removed a small Barbie wallet. She carefully took out a twenty dollar bill, tucked it back into the backpack, and zipped it up.

  “Let’s go!” Mei pushed her glasses up on her nose and flashed Marco an ear to ear smile. It was as if the noodle conversation never happened.

  Out on the street, Marco and Mei looked up and down McClarren. This was a foreign land to the girl from Chinatown and the boy from south of Market. The early morning chaos of people rushing to work was gone. Few people were even to be seen. The pair walked several blocks in search of food before deciding to turn right on Clay Street.

  “I’m hungry,” Mei whined.

  ‘I know, you said that back there. Do you see a place to eat?”

  “I can’t see very far Marco! You know that!”

  “OK Mei. I will keep looking.”

  As they crossed an alley opening, Marco began to point excitedly. “That sign looks Chinese. Look at the sign Mei, look at the sign.”

  To Mei’s delight, she could read the sign and she knew just what she would find inside. Hon’s Wun Tun House smelled like home. Mei walked up to the first person she saw wearing a white shirt and black tie and asked in Cantonese if they served noodles. Receiving a positive response, she led Marco to the nearest table.

  “I ordered us noodles!” Mei said excitedly.

  “I like noodles.” Marco nodded.

  The two sat and rearranged the napkins, silverware, and salt and soy sauce rack several times before the novelty wore off. The menus didn’t matter to them, but they enjoyed looking at the pictures. Marco, not being familiar with Chinese restaurants and anything but take-out Chow Mein, giggled at the sight of the exotic dishes pictured in the menu. Mei patiently explained what they were and told him the Cantonese name for each. The time passed quickly, and before they knew it, the waiter brought two huge steaming bowls of noodles filled to the top with marvelous smelling broth.

  “I got chicken! I don’t like pork.” Mei beamed.

  “Smells good! Let’s eat ‘em up!’ Marco closed his eyes, bowed his head, said something Mei couldn’t hear, then made the sign of the cross and said, “Amen.”

  Across the room, sitting at a counter seat, sat a poorly dressed, greasy-haired man. Mickey Tucker, was a twenty-something. His obesity was bordering on the “morbidly” kind. Diners at the tables behind him found his smacking and grunting noises distasteful, to say the least. One couple actually moved to another booth. His dirty Cal Bears sweatshirt was splashed all down the front with a combination of General Taos Chicken and fried rice.

  When he finally came up for a breath, Mickey saw Marco and Mei walking to their seats. Something was more important than his food, them. He didn’t take his eyes off them for more than a minute. With his eyes glued to their every move, he reached, without looking, for his cell phone on the counter.

  “Cal, Mickey.”

  “Hey Mick.”

  Mickey Tucker was California Corwin’s computer-nerd-hacker-slacker. He worked with her on a part-time basis. Just enough hours and projects to buy new computer gear and allow him to be the go-to guy for gaming in San Francisco.

  “You know that Chinese ‘tard you were looking for?” he continued. “Tell me again what she looks like. Kinda fat? Pop bottle glasses? She with a Mexican lookin’ retard?” He paused.

  “That’s not very nice. They have a disability, as do you, as I recall,” Cal said.

  “Is that a fat joke? I don’t like fat jokes, Cal.”

  “It is not nice. Why are you asking?” Cal continued.

  “Yeah, yeah I know it’s not politically correct, I don’t give a shit. They look like retards to me.”

  “What do you mean look like?” Cal said excitedly.

  “I’m lookin’ at them... I think.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m having lunch, on Kearney, Hon’s Wun Tun House. If it’s them, they just came in.”

  “Do you think it’s them?”

  “Geez I don’t know. How many Mexican Chinese Retard Combo Platters you think are in San Francisco?” Mickey choke
d, laughing at his own attempt to be funny.

  “What’s the number?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  “Ask somebody!” Cal yelled into the phone.

  Mickey got up and took a takeout menu from the rack at the end of the counter. “648, at Clay.”

  Cal lowered her voice and spoke slower, “Listen, Mickey. This is important. I want you to follow them. I’m on my way. Do not let them see you.”

  “They’re re...” Mickey self-corrected. “They’re intellectually disabled. You really think they’re smart enough to notice me?”

  “You can be seen from space, Mick. Yeah, they’ll notice you.”

  “Enough with the fat jokes Cal, I mean it. I don’t like fat jokes.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m on my way. Call me when you leave the restaurant.”

  “This’ll cost ya.”

  Mei and Marco giggled, talked, and slurped their noodles. The long strands were warm and comforting. The broth felt good to Mei’s stomach. Neither one noticed the fat, white guy staring at them from across the room.

  When they finished, Mei gave Marco both fortune cookies. She paid the bill, left a dollar tip, and they left the restaurant. Mickey downed three diet Cokes with his double lunch and needed a bathroom break. Even though he did his business as fast as he could, his prey left the building before he came out. He tossed a twenty on the counter and said, “I’ll be back for my change!”

  In front of the restaurant, Mickey looked up and down both sides of the street. He was in a complete panic. A tall guy in a yellow plastic slicker passed Mickey singing I Left My Heart in San Francisco at the top of his voice. In front of the singer, was a shopping cart loaded with all his earthly possessions. As the cart rolled slowly down the handicap slope of the sidewalk at the corner, Mickey got a clear view of Marco and Mei about a hundred yards up the block.

  Without thinking, Mickey broke into a dog trot in a valiant effort to catch the pair, moving farther and farther away from him. Mickey did pretty well the first twenty-five yards. His girth was not conducive to rapid movement. As he jogged along, between his panicked visions of Cal’s reaction to his losing them, Mickey tried to figure out when the last time he ran was. He couldn’t. At thirty yards, he was in a full sweat and breathing heavily. At forty yards, a sharp pain cut into his side, and at fifty yards, Mickey stopped. He would have put his hands on his knees and panted, but he couldn’t reach them. A wave of nausea swept over him and a moment later two orders of General Taos Chicken and a double portion of fried rice blew into the gutter accompanied by three diet Cokes.