Forty-One

The restaurant was nearly deserted, nothing more than a group of straggling tourists and a couple of hookers on their lunch break. Seeing them, Michael was reminded of how late it was. Too late for short ribs … Whatever Sabrina was after, it wasn’t food.

The woman manning the front was dressed in the traditional hanbok—a high-wasted skirt over a fitted long-sleeve top, her dark hair secured at her nape in a low bun. When she saw Sabrina, she inclined her head slightly. “Please wait,” she said to Sabrina before disappearing.

“I was serious about the gun,” she said without looking at him. “I hope you left it in the car.”

“I did,” he said, taking in the interior. Low ceilings, booths separated by mahogany partitions. For some reason, his thoughts turned to David Song, the man who’d nearly killed him. “What are we doing here?”

“Getting answers,” she said softly.

Before he could press her, the woman returned. “Come, please,” she said before turning and leading them through the restaurant, heading for what looked like a private dining room. The paper partition slid open to reveal a couple of thugs dressed in dark suits, tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of their dress shirts. Korean Pips.

Sabrina entered the room uninhibited, taking a chair at the table. Without being asked, he held his arms up and submitted to a pat-down, his eyes scanning the room until he found who he was looking for.

The man sat with his back in the corner, facing the door, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You’ve brought a guest this time,” he said to Sabrina. “And I thought you were ashamed to be seen with me.”

“Michael O’Shea,” she said, and the man’s face changed instantly.

He stood before speaking to the young woman behind him in Korean. She bowed in response and scurried off to do the man’s bidding. “Let him in,” he said, the thugs nearly tripping over themselves to do as they were told.

As soon as the partition was closed, the man offered him a deep bow, the collar of his expensive silk shirt pulling away from his chest and neck to reveal extensive ink work. Michael inclined his head to show respect before taking a seat next to Sabrina.

“This is Phillip Song,” she said, placing her hands carefully on the table in front of her. “He’s the head of Seven Dragons.”

Song settled into his chair and gave her an easy smile. “I am no such thing, Inspector. I am as my father was before me—a simple immigrant who is deeply entrenched in his community.” His dark eyes glittered, the corner of his mouth lifting in the slightest of smirks. This was obviously a game they’d played before.

“Regardless of what you are, she killed your brother. Why would you help her?” Michael asked, intentionally attempting to get a rise from their host.

Song’s eyes flashed a warning, but it was fleeting. He turned his gaze on Sabrina. “What is it that brings you here, yeon-in? Not just tea, I think.”

Michael’s teeth were instantly set on edge. Yeon-in meant sweet-
heart.

If she understood the intimacy involved in his words, she didn’t show it. “People. Specifically, children.” Sabrina sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to know who’s selling them in the city and from where.”

Song’s face folded up tight, his solicitous demeanor instantly gone. “I have nothing to do with such filth.”

“I know you don’t, but you’re the only gangster I’m on a first-name basis with, so my options on who to ask are limited.” She dropped her arms and leaned in, fixing him with a long look. “This is important, Phillip.”

Song hesitated for a moment before sighing. “There are a few. The Russians and Albanians corner the trade around here. They generally keep it quiet—use Hunter’s Point to import their … cargo.” The paper partition slid open and the hostess reappeared with a tray laden heavy with an assortment of steaming dishes.

She poured tea and lifted the lids off dishes, revealing enough food to feed a small army. As soon as she was finished, she took the tray and held it behind her back, offering Song a bow.

“Gamsahabnida,” Michael said, drawing her attention.

She blushed slightly and offered him a bow. “Cheonman-e.”

“You speak Korean.” Song inclined his head a bit.

He shrugged, evading the question. “Who is she? She hasn’t been here long.”

“My cousin Eun,” Song said as soon as the partition slid closed. “Our family is very traditional. She’s been in the States for a year and is still having trouble adjusting to the brashness of America …” He cocked an eyebrow, shooting a crooked grin in Sabrina’s direction. “Especially its women.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sabrina said wryly, reaching for a platter of bulgogi. “About the Russians. What does their cargo consist of?” She was thinking the same thing he was: Alex.

Song turned his teacup slowly in its saucer, the steam winding between his long tapered fingers. “Women mostly. Those who come here for a better life but get something else entirely. Some children, but … I’m not involved in such matters, so it is hard for me to say.”

“You tellin’ me that Seven Dragons doesn’t trade in skin?” Michael piped up before lifting his cup to his mouth, taking a careful sip.

“What I’m telling you is that Seven Dragons does not kidnap and sell humans into slavery.” Phillip’s mouth drew in tight around the words, making it obvious that he was trying very hard to remain calm. “This is all speculation, of course. I have no real knowledge of what kind of business Seven Dragons participates in.”

“Of course,” Sabrina said, shooting Michael that stop talking look of hers before turning back to their host. “You said some children. That means you have heard of the Russian trading in kids, right?”

“The Russians are little better than animals. Brutal. No real sense of honor.” Phillip picked up his tea and took a long swallow, watching him over the rim, his expression telling him that Song’s opinion of him was in line with what he thought of the Russians.

Michael clamped his jaw shut, his teeth grinding together so hard they nearly fused together from the pressure.

Phillip lowered his cup to reveal a brief smile. “They’ve been known to kidnap the children of rivals and traitors, sometimes for ransom, sometimes as a punishment. I can only imagine what is done with these children when they are not returned home.”

“What about the Colombians? Have you heard any noise about the Reyes cartel setting up shop around here?”

At the mention of Reyes’s name, Song looked away. He was either working with him or afraid. If Michael had to guess, he’d say the former rather than the latter. “They are a more recent arrival. The Russians are less than pleased with the competition they offer.”

He stood, reaching into the dark recesses of his suit jacket. Michael tensed. He’d left his gun in the car as Sabrina instructed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t armed. Song must’ve read his thoughts because he laughed, pulling a red silk pouch from his breast pocket. The smell of its contents drifted through the thin fabric, light and delicate. Like one of those sachets women kept in their underwear drawer.

“How are you sleeping, Sabrina?” That solicitous tone again. One that said he had every right to expect an answer to such a personal question.

Sabrina looked up at him and shrugged, which Michael guessed was as close as she would ever come to telling the truth.

Song nodded and pressed the pouch into her hand. “Next time, don’t wait so long to come see me,” he said before moving toward the door. Michael stood, putting himself between Song and the way out. He was getting an answer to his question, one way or another.

“My brother dishonored my family when he killed those women and very nearly you.” Song looked him in the eye, his head tilted just a bit. “A debt is owed … and I always pay my debts. There is a warehouse at the corner of Bayshore and Loomis. The Colombians and their ilk use it as a marketplace. Perhaps you might find what you’re looking for there,” he said, giving Michael a slight bow before stepping around him. The paper partition slid open to reveal the same pair of thugs who’d frisked him. “Sweet dreams, yeon-in,” he said, and then he was gone.