Gulliver was exhausted by the time he’d worked his way into Flushing, Queens. Flushing began as a Dutch colony. It was best known to baseball fans as the home of the Mets, but these days its population was largely Asian. It rivaled the Chinatowns in Manhattan and in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and was also home to a huge Korean population. Without a doubt, it was home too to some of the best Asian food in all of New York City. And that was really saying something. But Gulliver wasn’t hungry. He was not here for soup dumplings or kimchi. He was here to see Gun Park. No joke. No play on words.
According to Tony, Gun Park was the head of Gangpae in New York City. Gangpae was the South Korean Mafia. Of all the newer gangs in New York, Gangpae had the biggest conflict with the old New York mob. The trouble had to do with the transport of electronics and garments from the New Jersey docks, Newark Airport and Kennedy Airport. Along with carting and construction, the trucking of cargo had long been controlled by the Mafia. There was a time when even asking the wrong kind of question about those businesses could get a man’s leg broken. Sometimes much worse. But with the RICO Act, the government had badly weakened the old mob. The Mafia’s rep no longer scared new players.
If Gulliver had not believed that before, he did now. He had spent most of his day walking into the dens of the most powerful organized-crime bosses in New York City. The storeroom of a Syrian food store on Atlantic Avenue. A Chinese teahouse on Mott Street. A Dominican bar in Washington Heights. A Bulgarian social club on Ditmars Boulevard. The reactions he got were the usual. A mixture of curious stares, annoyance and laughter. The laughter came to an end when Gulliver kicked someone’s ass. Or pulled out his SIG. Or his knife. But come to an end it did. After that he was treated with respect for his courage and skill.
All the gangsters he met with agreed that they had issues with the old New York mob. Some of them laughed at it, as if the Mafia were a quaint relic like a rotary phone or a TV set with a picture tube. None of them felt the least bit threatened by the old mob. Gulliver suspected that these guys talked braver than they really were. But he wasn’t there to argue with them. Only to find out if they were angry enough with Joey Vespucci to grab his daughter. Most of them got pretty angry when Gulliver mentioned the possibility.
We don’t make war on the children of our enemies, they told him.
Gulliver believed them. They all offered to help in any way they could to find Bella. Gulliver believed that less. But even if he had, he wouldn’t have taken them up on the offer. It didn’t always help to have more people beating the brush. Sometimes it was better to have fewer people, who knew what they were doing. This was one of those times.
Now here he was in Flushing, but this time there were no fights. No one pulled a weapon. All Gulliver did was ask to see Mr. Park. It seemed as if they were expecting him. They might have been, for all he knew. Word spreads.
After patting Gulliver down and taking his weapons, a man in his thirties showed him into the office at the rear of a Korean grocery store. The man who escorted him was strapped, but Gulliver doubted the man would need to use his weapon in most situations. He had the air of a serious man. A man not to be toyed with.
The rear of the store was full of magical smells. Garlic. Peppers. Vinegar and spices Gulliver did not know. Without being told, he removed his boots and left them on the threshold of the office, next to a pair of fine-quality handmade Italian loafers. The office was larger than he expected. It was beautifully decorated. The deep red carpeting alone must have cost several thousand dollars. There was an ornate wooden desk, and lovely wood paneling on the walls. Inside the office was a man about Joey Vespucci’s age. He was dressed in khakis, a beige cashmere sweater and brown socks. He was putting golf balls into a regulation golf hole cut into the carpet. Gulliver waited, not saying anything.
When the ball clanged into the dead center of the cup, Gun Park smiled ever so slightly. He hit the next ball with the same result. Again the same smile that quickly vanished. As he prepared to hit the next ball, he looked at Gulliver’s stockinged feet and nodded in approval. There was no smile.
He said, “You have had a busy day, Mr. Dowd. Can I get you something to eat or drink? Tea? A beer?”
Gulliver thought about it. He knew better than to reject an offer of hospitality from a powerful person. In many cultures, it is an insult to do so.
“A cold beer would be great. Thank you.”
“Please sit.” Park gestured to a pile of colorful silk cushions at a low table toward the rear of the large office.
He called to the man who had showed Gulliver into the room and then came to the table and sat across from Gulliver.
“You are a curious man, Mr. Dowd,” Park said. “You are a very hard man but a generous one. Koreans honor these things. Korea is a hard land, but we are a generous, caring people.”
At that moment Park’s man came in with a bottle of beer—OB Lager—and a glass. He placed them in front of Gulliver. Gulliver thanked him and nodded but didn’t touch the bottle or the glass. He knew he was being tested. With men like Park, everything was a test and everything else was about respect.
“You asked for the beer, yet you don’t touch it,” Park said. “Why so?”
“Because it would be impolite for a guest to pour his own drink.”
“I like you more and more, Mr. Dowd.” Park poured Gulliver’s beer and then gestured for him to have some.
He did, and it went down well. “May I speak frankly, Mr. Park?”
“Please do.”
“You know why I am here.”
Park nodded. “Of course.”
“Then may I ask if you have Mr. Vespucci’s daughter?”
Park did not answer directly. “Koreans value their children greatly. But every man you have seen today has said the same thing. Have they not?”
Gulliver nodded.
“They would. We all say things that one part of our hearts believes. But there is another part of our hearts that knows that we in this business value other things more. There are things Mr. Vespucci has done. Things all these other men have done. Things I have done that would put lies to all the lofty things we say we value. But we are men who value more greatly power, fear, respect and wealth. There is no limit on the things we would do in order to attain and keep that which we prize.”
Gulliver said, “I know that, sir. That is why I have come to you.”
“You do not value these things, Mr. Dowd?”
Gulliver laughed. “I mean no disrespect, Mr. Park. I laugh because the question has no meaning to me. Do you know Shakespeare, Richard III?”
“I do. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!”
“Exactly. All the money and power in the world could not change the man that looks back at me from the mirror each morning. So of what value would they be to me?”
Park thought about that for several seconds. “If I thought we could somehow gain what we wanted from Mr. Vespucci by taking his daughter, we would. But we do not think that.” Park did not smile, but there was a sudden warmth in his eyes. “We do not have his daughter. I have only the sincerest hope that you can return her safely to her family. I will not disrespect you by offering unwanted help, Mr. Dowd. Please know that you are always welcome here.” The warmth in his eyes vanished. “Now, if you would leave me to my golf.”
Night had fallen on New York by the time Gulliver got back to his van. As he was about to get inside, his phone rang. It was Happy Meal.
“Hey, Shea. What’s up?”
“Get over here,” Shea said in his flat-toned voice. “Get over here right now. And you don’t have to stop for a Happy Meal.”