After they dropped Adela off at her apartment, they headed back toward the north side of Red City and the bar. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, though he rarely was. He stared out the window as Tomi worked his way over the surface streets. The residential neighborhood Adela lived in was quieter, though it still had its mix of boarded up houses and sketchy apartments. Once they pulled onto one of the larger through streets, various businesses lined the avenue. Adult video stores, convenience stores, bars, pawn shops, laundry mats, massage parlors, etc. Some were open, a lot were boarded up. Nearly all had at least some graffiti covering their walls and windows.
Occasionally the headlights and brake lights would be broken up with flashing red and blue lights. Tomi kept his speed at the limit and followed all the rules of the road. Red City cops loved pulling people over to fish for reasons to write tickets or mess with citizens.
“Sure you don’t want me to drop you at your place? You should probably rest up after being shot,” Tomi asked.
“No. I want to see if any of the neighbors saw anything.”
Tomi snorted. “Good luck. I’m sure they told the cops they didn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean they’ll tell you anything. Seeing and hearing things is a good way to wind up something someone else didn’t see or hear.”
Dax nodded, returning his gaze out the window. Tomi was right. His chances of getting any useful information from the neighbors was next to nil. Getting involved was either a way to get on the radar of the cops, which no one wanted, or a way to find out who the less trustworthy neighbors were. Suspicion bred suspicion, and it was the only thing prospering in Red City, besides the corrupt and the crooked…
When they arrived at the bar, they parked in the neighborhood behind the bar and walked the block and a half back. Tomi stepped into the bar to send home the bartender after their shift. Dax waited for the bus to pass by then walked across the street, stopping in the middle as a taxi flew past, and entered the convenience store.
“Hello,” an older Vietnamese man called from behind the counter.
Dax walked to the cooler and grabbed two of the store’s house made instant pho kits and dropped them off on the counter, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
“Oh, Dax. I didn’t see it was you. Need anything else?” the man asked.
“Hey, Thuc. No. Just the pho, and a few answers if you’re willing to give them.”
Thuc narrowed his eyes. “Depends.”
Dax leaned against the counter, resting an elbow on the counter. “Were you working yesterday afternoon?”
Thuc nodded. “Yeah?”
“Did you hear the shots?”
He nodded again.
“Did you see the shooter?”
Thuc shook his head. “I only heard it.”
A bit of movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention to a black and white security monitor showing an image of the sidewalk and street just outside the store’s door. He couldn’t remember where the car had been parked; it had all happened so fast after the bullets started flying.
“What about your camera?” He pointed toward the monitor.
Thuc shrugged. “Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.” Behind them, the electronic bell sounded, announcing someone entering the store. Thuc’s eyes flicked toward the new shopper, his eyes going wide, fear seeping into them.
“The camera wasn’t working that day. Do you need anything else?”
“If you could check your tapes, I’d appreciate it.” Dax pulled a twenty out of his wallet and set it on the counter.
“The recording doesn’t work. I haven’t fixed it,” Thuc replied quickly, his eyes tracking the other person.
Dax wasn’t going to get anything out of the old man, not right now. He scooped up his change, grabbed the pho, and nodded at Thuc, giving him a half-assed attempt at a friendly smile. As he turned toward the door, he stopped when he spied the uniformed cop doing a poor job of not staring at him, then continued on.
After he entered the bar, he nodded at Tomi and held up the pho containers. “Got some dinner for you. I’ll cover you after I’m done.”
“Thanks, Boss.” Tomi grabbed the tap handle and poured a Pabst.
Heading down the hall past the office and restrooms, he slid open the door to his tearoom. The room formed a rectangle. A compact corner bar stood to the left of the entrance. Along the walls, a half dozen two-top tables sat. A long table with cloth-covered benches on two of the side formed the centerpiece of the room.
Dax set the pho on the bar top, stepped behind the bar, and turned on the water kettle. Putting one of the pho in the undercounter cooler, he grabbed a bowl from the stack he kept under the bar for just this occasion. He turned and leaned against the bar, staring at his wall of tea and teapots. Green. His eyes settled on a tin of Vietnamese Trà Xanh green tea.
Once the kettle hit the appropriate temperature, he made a pot of the tea in a porcelain teapot, then set the kettle back on to bring it to a boil for the pho. While he waited, he played a bamboo flute playlist through the room’s speakers.
After his pho was ready, he grabbed his chopsticks and spoon and leaned over the bowl, inhaling deeply. “Thuc may not want to talk about the shooting, but he did make a nice pho kit. The ritual of tea and sitting down in one of his favorite spaces helped to center his mind as the bamboo flute calmed him and the hot flavorful soup filled his belly.
He was nearly finished when the door slid open. “I’m almost done, Tomi.”
“Oh, did I interrupt your dinner?” replied an oily voice.
All the effort to center himself evaporated like a drop of water in a too hot pan.
“Detective Ryan.” Ignoring the cop, he wound some rice noodles on his chopsticks and scooped some broth into his spoon.
Detective Ryan, an average height white man, slid onto the bench opposite Dax. The cop had a five o’clock shadow from two days ago and the greasy unwashed brown hair to match it. His gray suit looked wrinkled. A darker spot hinted at a stain. “Are you going to offer me a cup…” He leaned forward, looking into Dax’s teacup. “Tea? I don’t suppose you have some whiskey back here.”
“It doesn’t matter what I have back here. If you want a drink, you can pay for it up front like all the other customers. The tearoom is closed right now.”
“Oh, I’m not here to spend money. I seem to have missed you a few times. Rumor about the neighborhood is you were shot.” Detective Ryan rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. He stared at Dax through the top of his eyes.
Dax took a sip of his tea then went in for another spoon of pho. “You know you shouldn’t put much stock in rumors.”
“Rumors… Maybe a witness might be a much more appropriate word.”
“If you didn’t mince words, you’d get to the conclusion much faster.” He spoke through a mouthful of food.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?” Detective Ryan asked.
Dax shrugged. “You interrupted my meal. It’s too good to let it go cold.” He picked up the bowl and slurped down the rest of the broth, setting the bowl out of the way. “As you can see, I sit here unshot.” He stuck his arms out to display his body, holding in the twinge of pain and maintaining his mask. “I think your witness is yanking your crank.”
“Why don’t you take off your jacket and t-shirt? Let me confirm that there aren’t any wounds.”
Dax picked up his teapot and refilled his cup. “It’s kind of chilly, and I don’t feel like it. So, unless you have a warrant, I think you know where the exit is.”
“What? You’re not enjoying our little discussion?” Detective Ryan straightened up and leaned to the side, his elbow sliding along the edge of the table as he tried to look relaxed.
Taking a sip, Dax snorted quietly into his cup. “You’re not that interesting of a conversationalist.”
Detective Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you file a police report?”
“I wasn’t here. Based on what my bar manager said, I’d just left when it happened. Sorry, I can’t be more helpful.” He shrugged, swirling his cup and inhaling the vegetal aromas of the green tea.
The detective leaned forward again. “You know it’s usually a good idea to cooperate with police, right? For your own safety…” He spoke lowly, adding an ominous edge to his words.
Setting down his teacup, Dax leaned forward, holding the cop’s gaze. He let a bit of his true self slip into his eyes. “I have given you all the cooperation the Red City cops deserve. If you want to see if I’m wounded, you can get a warrant. Now if you don’t have anything else for me, I need to get to work.” He’d let a little too much loose and his voice had filled with a baleful hollowness.
Detective Ryan swallowed and his jaw trembled, releasing a bit of tooth chatter. Clenching his jaw, he shivered and sat up, breaking eye contact. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be back if I have more questions.”
Dax pulled down his mask, returning to his mortal facade. “If you’re thirsty, you can have a PBR. Only three dollars. Police discount.”
“I’m on duty,” Detective Ryan mumbled. Before standing up, he straightened up, apparently stiffening his spine. As he turned to slide out off the bench, he swept his elbow over the table, catching Dax’s teapot and knocking it to the floor.
The porcelain teapot shattered, splashing the last third of a pot over the floor. Dax held in the annoyed sigh and didn’t look at the mess, not wanting to give the cop the satisfaction.
“Oopsie. Sorry about that. I can be such a clutz sometimes.” Detective Ryan slid the door open and stalked through, leaving it open.
Dax picked up his teacup and took another sip. Sighing, he set it down. “Cold.”
A moment later, Tomi poked his head in. “The pig is gone.” His eyes drifted down to the mess on the floor. “Shit. I thought I heard a crash. I’ll go get the broom and mop.”
He held up his hand. “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it. He already ruined my dinner. He doesn’t need to ruin yours, too. When I’m done, you can take your break.”
“Alright, Boss. Holler if you need me.”
“Thanks, Tomi. I do appreciate it.”
Tomi nodded and disappeared.
Detective Rand Ryan had been a pain in Dax’s ass since he’d bought the bar. Ryan had just been a beat cop then, shaking down the neighborhood businesses for his protection racket. The sad thing was, Randall Ryan wasn’t even the worst of the lot. Corruption was endemic from top to bottom. Though as he’d been promoted, his grift had increased accordingly.
Bending over, he picked up the larger shards then fetched the broom and mop. He’d liked that teapot. The floral pattern of green vines and colorful flowers was pleasing. It had been a good thrift shop find. He dumped the pieces into the garbage bin, some of the pieces breaking as they hit each other and the bottom of the can.
At least it wasn’t one of his Yixing clay teapots. Most of them had years of patina and would have been a tremendous loss, especially the old ones that were manufactured from clay from the mines that were no longer used. If Ryan had broken one of those, he might not have walked out of this bar alive.