Indigo Slam

CHAPTER 25

He was an older guy with a hard face that looked as if it had been chipped from amber. He waved the AK. 'Hands on heads, fingers laced.' The accent was thick, but we could understand him.

I said, 'The building is surrounded by the United States Secret Service. Put down the gun and we won't have to kill you.'

'Lace your fingers.' I guess he didn't think it was funny.

He took a half-step backward into the hall, and when he did Pike shuffled one step to the right. When Pike moved, the older guy dropped into a half-crouch, bringing the AK smoothly to his shoulder, right elbow up above ninety degrees, left elbow crooked straight down beneath the AK's magazine, the rifle's comb snug against his cheek in a perfect offhand shooting stance. Perfect and practiced, as if he had grown up with a gun like this and knew exactly what to do with it. I said, 'Joe.'

Pike stopped.

The older guy yelled down the hall without taking his eyes from us. A door crashed and Walter Tran, Junior, came running up, excited and sweating, expensive shoes slipping on the vinyl tiles. When he saw me, his eyes got big and he barked, 'Holy shit!' He clawed at his clothes until he came up with a little silver.380 that he promptly dropped.

I said, 'Relax, Walter. We're not going anywhere.'

He scooped up the.380, fumbling to get the safety off and pointing it at the older guy who snapped at him in Vietnamese and slapped it out of his hands. The old man shifted to English. 'You're going to shoot yourself.'

I said, 'Walter, take a breath.'

Walter Junior pointed at me. 'This one was the guy at the paper. I've never seen the other one.' Pike, reduced to 'other' status.

The older guy narrowed his eyes again. 'He said they were with the Secret Service.'

Walter Junior said, 'Holy shit!' again, and ran back down the hall.

'I was kidding. We're private investigators.'

The older guy shrugged. 'Gives the boy something to do.'

The door crashed once more and Walter Junior was back, skidding to a stop just ahead of Nguyen Dak and two of the shotgunners who had fronted me at the Journal. I said, 'We could sell tickets.'

Nobody laughed at that one either.

Nguyen Dak was wearing a fine wool suit that had probably cost three grand. He looked at me. 'We told you to stay away.'

'Clark Hewitt has three children, and I have them. A bunch of Russians from Seattle are looking for Clark because they want to kill him. That means they're looking for his kids, too.'

'You should have listened.' Guess none of it mattered to him.

'We're here because we're working for Hewitt's children. We don't care about the printing.'

I guess that didn't matter to him either.

They made us lie face down with our fingers laced behind our heads, then searched us as if they were looking for a microphone or a transmitter. I guess maybe they were. Dak positioned the two shotgunners in the front corners of the room so they could cover us without shooting each other. The guy with the AK took our guns and our wallets, tossed them to Dak, then tied our hands behind our backs with electrical utility wire. Dak called him Mon. When our hands were tied, they lifted us into the two folding chairs. I said, 'It started out like a pretty good day.'

Dak made a gesture and one of the shotguns punched me on the side of the head. Seattle all over again.

Dak looked through my wallet first, then Pike's, then handed them to the guy with the AK. 'Private investigators.'

'I told you that.'

'You told this gentleman you are with the Secret Service.'

'Bad joke.'

Dak stared at me some more.

I said, 'We came here to find Clark Hewitt. We know he's working with you, and we know he's been here.'

Dak lit a Marlboro and looked at me through the smoke. The guy with the AK said something in Vietnamese, but Dak didn't respond. He said, 'We now have a problem.'

'I kinda guessed.'

'Who do you really work for?'

'Clark Hewitt's children.'

More cigarette, more smoke. 'I think maybe the FBI.'

I shrugged at him. 'If that's true, your problem's bigger than you think.' You could tell he knew that, and didn't like it. 'If we're feds, then other feds know where we are. If they know where we are, and we turn up dead, you're history.'

Dak clenched his jaw and waved the cigarette. 'I told you to stay away, and you did not. You came onto our property, and you have seen things that you should not have seen.'

I said, 'I don't give a damn what you're going to print, or why, or what you're going to do with it. I came here because Clark and his children are in danger.'

The AK spoke Vietnamese again, louder this time, and Dak shouted back at him, the other Viets looking from one to the other like some kind of tennis match was taking place, maybe yelling about killing us, maybe saying murder us clean right here in the room, then sweat it out with the cops and pretend they didn't know what happened or how or why. They were still going through it when Clark Hewitt came in with Walter Senior and another younger guy. Clark was wearing a cheap cotton shirt and baggy trousers over busted-out K-mart canvas shoes, and he had the vague, out-of-focus look of someone who'd just shot up.

Clark saw us and said, 'Oh, dear.'

Dak's eyes flashed angrily, and he jerked the cigarette. 'Get him out of here.'

The younger guy was pulling Clark back into the hall when I said, 'The Russians are in LA, Clark. I've got your kids stashed, but they're in danger.'

Clark jerked his arm away and came back into the room. 'Where are they?'

'At a friend's.'

Dak told the younger guy to get Clark out of there again, and when the younger guy grabbed his arm, Clark swatted at him. 'Get away from me!'

I looked back at Dak. 'I've got his children, goddamnit. Shooters from Seattle are down here looking for him, and he knows it's a fact.' I looked back at Clark. 'The Russians killed Wilson Brownell, and that means they know everything that he knows.'

Clark 's face worked. 'They killed Wil?'

The AK screamed again, and this time he shoved past the others and leveled the gun at us. When he did, Clark shrieked, 'No!' and lurched forward, shoving him away. Both Walters and the other Viets swarmed around him, and Dak slapped him hard, twice. Clark didn't quit. He punched at Dak, throwing awkward punches with nothing on them, but he kept throwing them until a Walter hung onto each arm and a third man had him around the neck. Clark was just full of surprises.

Pike said, 'Payback's going to hurt.'

The three men pulled Clark out of the way, and Dak waved at us, saying, 'Kill them.'

Clark said, 'If you kill them I won't print your goddamned dong.' Vietnamese money is called dong.

Dak's face went dark, and he shook Clark 's arm. 'You agreed to print for us and you will make the money!'

Clark said, 'Like hell I will.' When he said it a little bit of spit hit Dak on the shirt.

The AK had had enough with all the talk. He pushed past Dak and ran at us again, barking in Vietnamese. When he did, Dak yelled 'No!' and grabbed him from behind.

Dak and the AK and the other two older guys shoved and screamed at each other, and I knew what it was about. They were revolutionaries, but they were also businessmen with families and property and things they would lose if they were discovered. They were shouting about killing us, and it was clear that they wanted to. Pike tensed beside me, probably thinking that if the younger shotgunners looked at the older guys he would come out of the chair and risk the charge, maybe hit the near guy hard enough to knock free the gun, maybe get the gun and do some damage even with his hands tied behind his back.

Helluva morning. Drive down to Orange County to die.

I said, ' Clark, whatever Brownell knew, the Russians know. They'll have your address and phone number, and that gives them a place to start looking. If I can find you, they can find you, too.'

Clark was nodding, trying to hear me past all the yelling. A faint sheen of sweat covered his face, and he looked pale and more than a little nauseated. I thought that even with the dope whatever was eating him up must hurt like hell.

I said, 'I've got the kids stashed in a safe place, but you're going to have to do something. Either go back into the program or get out of town.'

Clark was looking from me to the Viets, me to the Viets, over and over again. 'I need this money.' Whatever they were paying him to do the job.

' Clark, what good's the money if they murder your children?'

All the screaming had peaked, and Dak jerked the AK away from the other guy and used it to shove Clark toward the door, screaming, 'We have the paper now, we have the machines! Go into the other room and print the dong!'

But Clark didn't go into the other room. He grabbed hold of the AK, and shouted, 'I'm not going anywhere! If you kill them I won't print your money.'

Dak was breathing so hard he sounded like a bellows.

One of the other guys ran up beside him and tried to wrestle the AK away but Dak shouted a single Vietnamese word and the man stopped. Now they were both breathing loud, and Clark was breathing loud, too. Clark grabbed Dak by the front of his jacket and shook him. Clark 's face was so pale I thought he might keel over. He shouted, 'My children are in danger and these men are taking care of them.' He looked back at me. 'If they let you go, you won't tell, will you?'

'No.'

'You won't stop me from printing the dong?'

' Clark, if they let us go, we'll do everything we can to help.' I wanted Clark Hewitt to get his money.

The other man shouted and Dak raised the gun. Dak was shouting, too, and with all the shouting I thought that no one could understand anything and that the moment had taken on an inevitable life of its own. I thought that Dak would shoot right through Clark, the 7.62 mm bullets ripping through Clark into me and Pike and ending us all, but then the shouting stopped and Dak muttered a single coarse Vietnamese curse, and he looked at me with an expression of infinite weariness. He said, 'All right.'

He told Dak to cut us loose.

My heart began to beat again.