For more than ten years David Chen had run a very profitable business importing Chinese laborers from the Shandong Province into the United States. He ran the operation out of Chinatown in Los Angeles, with business partners in San Francisco and Seattle who ran their respective operations. He didn’t beat, starve or kill his laborers. They had Sundays off, a place to live, food to eat. They knew what they were getting into when they left Shandong: they would work for him, he would provide for them. They agreed to abide by his rules because they had a better life here, under his umbrella, than they had in their home country. A mutually beneficial relationship.
Until that cop.
He’d lost his human resources. He’d lost his property. It would take him years to rebuild, but he would rebuild. The state’s entire case was dependent on one person, and she would not be alive much longer. He detested depending on others to handle these situations—he missed Xavier, who had been a loyal and dependable bodyguard. He’d also been a friend.
Kara Quinn would pay for murdering Xavier.
He wasn’t concerned about the FBI—their case would go nowhere. He already had it on record that they offered him immunity in exchange for his cooperation; just because it hadn’t been made official with the lawyers didn’t mean that David wouldn’t be able to hold them to it, should someone decide to go after him.
He had far too much dirt on certain FBI agents.
All these thoughts were on David Chen’s mind as his driver took him to the courthouse on Monday. His lawyer texted him.
Meet in the lobby at 12:30. We’ll discuss our options.
David frowned. What options? Detective Quinn wouldn’t make it to the hearing and the case would be dismissed. That was the point of filing this motion.
Perhaps it was his lawyer’s way of covering his tracks, the weasel.
I’m on my way, David responded.
David then called his FBI contact. There was no answer, but he didn’t expect one. He left no message; his caller ID would be sufficient.
Five minutes later, his phone rang.
“Status?” David said without waiting for the caller to identify themselves. He knew who it was.
“Your timing needs work,” the voice said dryly. “Everything is on schedule.”
“Why isn’t she dead now?”
“My timing is impeccable. You will not see her at the courthouse.”
David hung up. He really detested not taking care of the detective himself, and he didn’t like the way he had been treated, starting with the fact that there had been an undercover operation for months into his business. Someone should have known. They’d only given him six hours. Surely his contacts in the FBI had known before then! And if not, what use were they?
He had a backup plan. If they failed to put Quinn in the ground, and if the judge didn’t dismiss the case, he would simply speak to the government lawyers. He had plenty of information to exchange for his freedom. It wasn’t his first option, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
Reggie, his driver, pulled into the parking garage closest to the courthouse. There was no available parking except on the top floor. Reggie backed in, got out, looked around, then opened David’s door.
They took the elevator to the bottom floor and exited on North Broadway. The courthouse was on the other side of the park. It was a pleasant day, though David would have preferred to be working. His business needed more of his time and attention since the raid in February.
His phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. Duncan. He almost didn’t answer, but Duncan might have important information—he’d supplied valuable information in the past.
“David Chen,” he answered.
“David, we’ve been in business together for several years now. We’ve made each other a lot of money. We’ve protected you. And yet...you would betray us.”
“Fool,” David said. “Why are you talking like this?”
“I have more friends than you.”
David ended the call and looked around.
“We need to leave,” he said to Reggie.
He turned to go back to the car and faced a man wearing a mask.
He had no gun because he was going into court.
Reggie pulled his gun too late.
Without hesitating, the gunman shot Reggie twice, then David three times.
David staggered back, fell to his knees, heard the screams of bystanders. Nearby he saw a girl, tall, skinny. She wasn’t looking at him; she was staring at the man who shot him. He reached out to her for help, tried to speak. No words came out. Through his darkening vision, he saw her run, as if through a tunnel.
He couldn’t breathe.
By the time he hit the cement, he was dead.