Counterfeit Lies

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The thirtysomething athletic Korean bounded across the street during a break in the traffic. Dressed neatly in a solid dark green shirt and designer jeans, he contrasted greatly with H. Daniel Reid’s homeless man. Even though the two men differed in appearance, their meeting didn’t draw the attention of others. L.A. was a forgiving town when it came to fashion. Blue jeans were routine business attire and nothing the men did attracted the interest of those passing by.

After purchasing coffee from a beachfront vendor, the two men grabbed a seat at a concrete table near the entrance to the pier. The noise from the traffic on Ocean Boulevard to their east and the waves splashing ashore to the west provided all the “noise cover” they needed to openly discuss their business.

“Mr. Park was right. He is a problem,” said the homeless man.

The other man nodded, his expression displaying frustration. “I knew that long before you got here and told Mr. Park even before this latest wrinkle surfaced.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “It’s clear Reid is weak and brings little to the table. Mr. Park was wrong to go outside the community. He could have laundered the funds hundreds of ways through our people but he chose to wash the money through Reid.”

The homeless man nodded, then added, “As you know, I have only been in this country a few months, but it is already apparent Mr. Park is caught up in the Hollywood glitz; too many free tickets and too many red-carpet front-row seats.”

With a wry smile the neatly dressed North Korean operative shook his head. “I wouldn’t want Mr. Park to hear you talking like that. He doesn’t take criticism well.”

Both knew Park had a well-deserved reputation for disposing of those who committed mistakes, expeditiously and with considerable violence. If necessary, they all were willing to show H. Daniel Reid how North Korea’s Office 39 handled people who created problems. “We need to resolve the matter quickly but not be foolish in our efforts.”

“Could you overhear their conversation?” asked the man.

“He was hiring the big American to kill the girl.”

“Jenny?” asked the boss.

“I think so. He didn’t say a name but as Mr. Park suspected it makes sense it would be her. The American was charging fifty thousand dollars and Reid quibbled over the price,” said the homeless man, taking another sip of coffee.

“He is cheap for a rich American lawyer.”

The homeless man spit out the coffee as they both laughed out loud, knowing Park often complained about Reid never picking up a check when they went to dinner.

The homeless man continued, “Reid said the girl was pregnant. Do you think she is?”

The man shrugged.

“Reid believes he is the father. Why else would he want her killed?” said the homeless man.

“From what I’ve seen of her in the clubs, he might want to wait until the baby is born to determine paternity. I’m not sure Reid is the only man she’s been with.”

“I heard you danced with her a time or two; any chance it’s yours?” asked the homeless man with a grin.

“I never went there.”

“Don’t tell me your kindness toward her was out of guilt,” said the homeless man.

“I did what I was ordered to do. Park wanted her husband killed in a manner no one suspected was murder. The others were collateral damage.”

“I think collateral damage includes Jenny and her current lifestyle,” said the homeless man.

The other man raised an eyebrow. “It may play a part.”

“Do we talk to her?”

“I’m not making that decision. We don’t speak to her unless ordered to do so. She would immediately run to her father and we don’t need the headache.”

The homeless man nodded. “We have a headache now. Maybe we should let this cowboy handle the matter. The lawyer and his hired gunman are meeting again tomorrow afternoon at three.”

“Where?”

“Here at the pier.”

“Good, I will tell Mr. Park. If he orders it, you and I may have to put in more blood work and eliminate this attorney and his contract killer.”