CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

Saturday – April 3

 

The slow rumble of the Harley vibrated through him as he backed it into a narrow space on Walter U Lum Place, the street in front of the Dragon's Lair head shop. After dropping down the kickstand, he cut the motor, removed his helmet and gloves, then ran fingers through his hair. He looked across the narrow street into Portsmouth Square—the place where the city began.

Long before today’s city of San Francisco existed, Spain conquered South America in the early sixteenth century. Once they had their foothold, they tasked their Franciscan missionaries with establishing congregacións—congregations—up and down the coast of California. This included the construction of religious outposts—missions—as centers of learning for the native people already occupying the land. Invariably, this meant enslaving the natives and destroying their way of life in order to make them dependent on the church for their livelihoods.

By the early eighteenth century, just two months after the signing of the Declaration of Independence in the east and establishing the thirteen colonies as the United States of America, missionaries staked a claim on a large peninsula overlooking a large inland bay and called it Yerba Buena, or Good Herb, for the abundant wild mint growing there. And Mission San Francisco de Asis was erected.

Pueblos—towns—quickly sprang up outside of mission walls, built by Californios—Mexican natives of California. In typical tradition, a public gathering place had been allocated, called The Grand Plaza, and Spanish style homes and buildings began emerging thanks to the influx of people and trade brought in through Yerba Buena Cove.

The nineteenth century saw a sudden expansion of the city. With growing sea trade, a customs house was erected beside the square. But soon, the Mexican American War broke out and by 1846, the USS Portsmouth, captained by John Berrien Montgomery, had seized Yerba Buena for the United States. Montgomery planted the American flag in the center of the plaza, proclaiming it now be called Portsmouth Square. He also declared Yerba Buena was no more. It was now San Francisco, paying respects to St. Francis for whom the mission had been built. Within the space of a few years, California's first public school opened opposite the customs house; and the United States' first Admissions Day was held in the square as California joined the Union as the thirty-first state.

The most significant event in Portsmouth Square had been the announcement in 1847 of the discovery of gold in the nearby mountains. News of the California Gold Rush spread like wildfire around the world and by 1849, California had become known as The Golden State.

Gold not only brought more city expansion, it also meant an even larger influx of humanity who built the city and laid track for the Trans-Continental Railroad. Soon clusters of people created their own communities, like Japantown, Koreatown, Little Saigon, and the largest Chinatown in the world, which Portsmouth Square was now at the heart of and became known as Fa Yuhn Gok, or the Garden Corner.

Yerba Buena Cove was now part of a larger shipping harbor that quickly earned the nickname of the Barbary Coast. Largely owned by the Chinese, brothels, dance halls, saloons, hotels and opium dens sprang up to give the newly minted gold panners places to spend their money.

When the Great Earthquake of 1906 struck, the square became a gathering place for survivors who hoped to find missing loved ones, and for medical attention in a new temporary hospital. A small tent city had been created for displaced city residents, as well as a corner of the square as a temporary graveyard.

The most recent renovations of the square began in the 1970s, when the park was paved over and modernized for twentieth century living. A Chinese-inspired gateway led to a new footbridge above Kearny Street connecting the park to the Chinese Cultural Center. And Walter U Lum, journalist and Asian rights activist, was honored with the street name where Jack had just parked his Harley.

Despite nearly two hundred and fifty years of history, the doors of Mission San Francisco de Asis were still open to the devout, and Portsmouth Square remained the beating heart of the original Yerba Buena that had blossomed into today's city of San Francisco, and was still growing into the twenty-first century.

Jack inhaled deeply as he admired a group of Asian women who moved as one as they practiced Tai Chi, the old men hunkering over tables playing Mahjong and checkers, and children laughing in the playground.

The city he loved had all begun right here on this very spot.

But for as much pride as he had in his city, he was also angry. His daughter would never know the city she'd been born into, and his family would never enjoy parks like this on fine spring days like today—the warm, blue sky above, and the scent of blooming cherry blossom trees. It made him furious after hearing Logan Armstrong's confession yesterday and knowing Tristan Rybak had taken his family from him. And because the bastard had killed himself, there was no possibility of retribution.

Frustration had coiled deep inside Jack since his discussion with Armstrong, so much so he'd barely slept last night. He literally felt like a raging storm in a bottle.

Before leaving the Armstrong house last night, Jack had devised a plan and put Armstrong right in the middle of it. Jack was going undercover, and Armstrong was his ticket into the Jade Dragons.

Jack looked at the time on his phone. If that shithead junkie stood him up today, he'd hunt him down and show him exactly how pissed off at Rybak he really was. Even if he didn’t stand him up, he still might. Armstrong wasn't completely innocent of anything that had gone down in his house four years ago.

Jack knew he was on his own going undercover. Haniford had made it abundantly clear. And he wouldn't put Ray in danger by getting him involved. He had no choice but to do this alone.

With a deep breath, he pushed aside his anger and frustration and set his helmet on the upper part of the gas tank over the dials. He swung his leg over the saddle and straightened the leather cut he wore over his black fitted T-shirt instead of his leather jacket. The weight of the holstered Beretta tucked against his arm was heavy—physically and emotionally. He hated carrying the weapon—it was something he rarely did. It made his stomach sour knowing he'd been forced to use the weapon to kill Travers, the city’s cannibal serial killer, and that he'd pulled it out again when he went looking for Ginnie Whitney-Cummings, who’d been killing drag queens over the previous holiday season.

His job as a private investigator rarely required a weapon, especially during interviews. But this was no ordinary interview. He wanted . . . no, needed . . . to infiltrate the Jade Dragons to get answers—what had they done with Leah?

Sliding on his dark sunglasses, he turned toward Dragon's Lair’s doors. He caught his reflection in the glass. He looked every bit the biker he tried emulating. He’d dressed all in black—heavy boots, jeans, fitted T-shirt stretching over his biceps, the silver chain connecting his wallet in his back pocket to his black belt, fingerless leather gloves, and black sunglasses, and a dark don't fuck with me look on his face. Perfect.

Rampant jade-green Chinese dragons were painted on the building on each side of the glass door, and above it read DRAGON'S LAIR in bold gold lettering in both Chinese—龍之巢穴—and English.

A thick chemical fog overlaid with the pong of patchouli greeted him as soon as he stepped inside. Too many scents hung in the air and made him want to gag. He gazed around the shop while taking a moment to get his breath.

It wasn't what he expected, and certainly not like head shops he'd known from his time on the force. Typically, these shops were full of glass and ceramic pipes, bongs, hookahs, and bubblers, as well as papers, grinders, and roach clips. Many also doubled as smoke shops selling high-end cigarettes and cigars by the box. And some even sold jewelry and home décor, all with a marijuana theme, as well as incense, wind chimes, and anything else that aided in one getting high and staying there. Pot itself was normally sold under the counter.

Dragon's Lair sold all that and more. Now vaping was in fashion, and rows of shelves were full of various types, sizes, and colors of vaping pens, vaporizers, and dabs. Racks were full of vape juice and atomizers.

As Jack moved through the shop, he was surprised to see a long row of glass counters with shelves full of weapons—knives and daggers, folding blades, butterfly knives, throwing stars, nunchucks and tonfas, and even a few samurai swords. Jack guessed, if he were in the market and played his cards right, he could even obtain any number of firearms through this shop. Given the shop's gang affiliation, he had no doubt hardcore pharmaceuticals were being dealt from the back room as Armstrong had said.

As he moved through the store, Jack tried visualizing what Armstrong had told him happened that night. Where had the three hidden around the shop when bullets started flying? Where had Warren and the shop assistant lain when Warren was given the death shot? Were there security cameras? He didn't see anything obvious but it didn't mean they weren't there. If there had been footage, it had surely been deleted a long time ago.

As he moved through the space, he noticed two young men standing over a display case, pointing and whispering at the hand-blown glass pipes. Their behavior gave him the impression they were new to the game. When they saw Jack's gaze drawing down on them from over the top of the sunglasses he still wore, they turned and left. Good. If anything went down, he didn't want them getting hurt.

There was no one at the cash register and he didn't see anyone else in the shop, but he was certain whoever was out back knew he was there. He didn't have to wait long. A skinny Asian man appeared.

"What you want?" he asked.

"Armstrong."

"No Armstrong here. You go. You scaring the customers."

Jack folded his arms across his chest, casually slipped a hand inside the leather cut and palmed the butt of the Beretta. "What customers?" The skinny man side-walked to the register and started reaching for something there. "I wouldn't do that."

"You leave now. I don't want no trouble."

"Where's Armstrong?" he asked, giving him the same look he'd given the two young customers moments before.

The skinny guy quickly disappeared back through the door and a moment later two different men appeared, both dressed in a sort of uniform—white shirt with a mandarin collar, black sports suit, and black shoes.

The one to Jack's left spoke first. "What do you want?" His English was clearer, but there was a hint of an accent.

"Armstrong."

"What do you want with him?" asked the second man.

"If it were any of your business, I'd tell you. Is he here?"

The bell on the door tinkled, but Jack didn't turn to see who was coming in. This was a retail operation, and he hadn't turned the closed sign on his way in.

Armstrong stopped beside Jack and glanced between the two men behind the counter. "What's up, Kenny?" he asked casually. He cocked his head at the second guy. "Kai."

"Kenny Chang," Jack muttered.

"What’s it to you?" The thin slits of Kenny’s eyes pulled together and a faint crease formed between his equally thin eyebrows.

So, this was the Kenny Amy Chin had told him about—the one responsible for bringing her brother into the gang. Did he have any responsibility in Danny’s disappearance too?

Jack ignored Kenny and gave Armstrong a side glance behind his dark shades. It didn't look like the guy had changed his clothes since yesterday. "You're late."

"So, sue me."

"Since when do you use the front door, loser?" Kenny asked.

"I want him to meet the boss."

Kai stepped forward. "That's not your place. Go around back like you're supposed to. Get your shit and leave."

Armstrong hesitated, but held his ground. "I'm not here for that. Mr. Li needs to meet this guy. He has a lucrative proposition."

Kenny and Kai gave Jack the once over, apparently not liking what they were seeing.

"Li makes his own deals, and he doesn't work with people he doesn't know. So, if you're not here for your shit, get out. Take your girlfriend with you." Kenny elbowed Kai and they chuckled before pulling back the edge of their jackets to expose the 9mm handguns tucked into the front of their waistbands.

"Why don't you let this Li tell me to my face he doesn't want my money?" Jack grumbled, stiffening his back to accentuate his height over the slight Asian men. His arms remained crossed and his palm on the Beretta in case the little fucks decided to get dirty. Kai moved his hand onto his 9mm but didn't draw it. Jack grinned. "That's a big weapon for a little guy like you."

Before Kai or Kenny had a chance to draw, the back room door opened. No one stepped through, but the tiny twins moved away from Jack and closed their jackets before returning inside.

"What's this shit?" Jack asked Armstrong with a lowered voice.

Armstrong ran his hands down his clothes, as if to rub out the wrinkles. "Looks like your wish is about to come true."

The man who stepped out of the back room was everything Armstrong had told him. Li Zihao was tall, maybe six feet, rail thin, and had a wicked scar across his face that gave him a permanent scowl. He wore a black sport suit similar to his thugs but with the first button undone. Jack knew Li had been in the city for at least the last fifteen years, but he still maintained his traditional hairstyle—long but pulled back into a braided queue that fell over his left shoulder. He didn't appear to be carrying a weapon.

"Logan," Li flatly greeted. "You have brought this man to meet me." It wasn't a question. His voice was slow and smooth and sounded more like he was about to invite them to tea. Knowing the Jade Dragons’ reputation, and that of its leader, Jack remained wary.

Armstrong's nerves were apparent by his agitation. "Yeah, Mr. Li."

"Please explain."

Armstrong cleared his throat and fidgeted with his fingernails for a long moment. "Umm, he's . . . I mean, I umm—"

"I buy my shit from Logan," Jack said. If he waited for Armstrong to get his act together, they'd be here all day.

Li scrutinized Jack before refocusing his attention on Armstrong. "Is this so?"

Armstrong nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I've been selling him your stuff for a while now and he . . ."

"Has a complaint?" Again, Li lifted his gaze to Jack.

"No complaint. I want more."

"I see. You come into my establishment and want to make a deal. Yet you won't do me the courtesy of showing me the whites of your eyes. Most interesting," Li said with a curious undertone.

Jack slid off his sunglasses and stuffed them in his pocket, all while continuing to stare into Li's eyes. "Better?"

Li stepped closer and gazed more deeply, like he was looking for something. Whatever it was, Jack wasn't going to give him a chance to find it.

After a long moment, Li said over his shoulder, "Guānbì shāngdiàn."

Kenny rushed from the back room to the front door. Behind him, Jack heard the lock click and a shade being rolled down over the glass. Kenny rushed past him again and disappeared into the back room.

Jack remained on guard, especially now he'd been forced to remove his hand from the Beretta. He knew without doubt he could take all three men—Li, Kenny, and Kai . . . and if necessary, the clerk—if it came down to a fight, but he wasn't as sure if they all drew down on him with their nine mils from behind the counter. He certainly didn’t want Armstrong hurt in the crossfire. And he had no idea if anyone remained in the back room.

Li squinted at Jack. The scar didn't allow one eye to do more than blink, but the uninjured eye narrowed sharply. "Tell me what you really want." His previously relaxed demeanor turned serious.

"You don't appear to be the type of man who needs anything repeated," Jack told Li. "So, let's cut the shit and get down to business. If you're good with that, we can send Mr. Armstrong on his way, and you and I can make a deal."

"I think we will keep Mr. Armstrong a while longer." Li called out again. "Yǐzi." Kenny and Kai brought out a pair of chairs and sat them facing each other a few feet apart. "Please, Mr. . . . I'm afraid Logan has forgotten his manners."

"Jack."

"Mr. Jack, please, have a seat and we will talk." Li stood beside the chair opposite the one he'd indicated for Jack and waited.

"Where's the chair for my friend here?" He cocked his head toward Armstrong.

"You and I will talk business. There is no formality with Logan. He may sit wherever he wishes."

"But he can't leave," Jack said.

"Correct. I don't know you. If anything were to happen, Logan and I would need to discuss his error in bringing you here. Are we understood?" Li's gaze bored into Jack.

Nodding, Jack took the indicated chair and sat carefully. Instant familiarity hit him. He always seemed to engulf the little chairs in Zoë's bedroom. As he did then, he sat still and took care he didn't break this man's delicate furniture.

"Sure. Whatever."