The Dark Root

23

I did make it to Gail's off-campus apartment, long after she’d gone to bed. While my anticipation of our reunion had been altered by Michael Vu’s murder, the need for her company was as real as before. Only now, I wanted a place to think, and someone to hear me out.

She took it all in stride. She got back into bed, propped her head up against the pillows, and watched me pace the darkened room as I described the day’s events. It was a sign of our friendship that my unannounced arrival, the late hour, and the restless mood I was in were all dismissed without comment.

“Why do you think Vu was killed? And who did it?” she asked after I’d finished.

I paused by the window and looked out onto the silent street below. “The reasonable explanation is that somebody didn’t want him talking to us. But since we weren’t able to get a unit across the river fast enough to catch that black car, we may never know. Spinney was still running the mop-up when I left, trying to find witnesses. The New Hampshire State Police came in with a forensics team. But I don’t think they’ll find anything… We went back to the two restaurants Vu had visited. In both cases, he’d made a halfhearted attempt to extort some cash. He didn’t get much chance to put the screws to them at either place, of course, but I doubt he would’ve gotten much anyway. Once they heard he was dead, both owners seemed pretty unconcerned-as if they knew he was flying solo and that any threat had died with him.”

“So Truong put the word out?”

“Somebody did. Vu didn’t do anything for Truong’s-or ‘Sonny’s’-PR in Brattleboro. As far as we can tell, that whole operation’s collapsed. Sammie told me this afternoon that things seem pretty much back to normal. It’s possible Vu was targeted because of that failure. Our showing up probably just speeded things up a bit. If Vu knew a contract was out on him, cutting a deal with us might’ve sounded pretty appealing.”

“Isn’t it a pretty big coincidence that both you and a hit man appeared at the same place at the same time? And how did he know where Vu would run to so he could get off that perfect shot?”

I settled into an armchair opposite the window and propped my feet on the sill before me. “It wasn’t necessarily a coincidence. We heard about Vu through our own grapevine, and theirs is a hell of a lot more sophisticated. The miracle is we saw him alive at all. That’s what makes me think he was being doubly skittish, on the run from both sides. As for the shooter, after he saw us in pursuit, he had to back off; but he knew that Vu would either be caught by us in the mall, or would run for the river. Those were his only two options.”

Gail let out a small sigh. “So Truong had him killed.”

“Maybe.”

She looked up at me quietly for a moment. “You don’t think so?”

I gave a half-shrug. “He could’ve done it-he’s cold enough for it. But the FBI found out that when he was fresh off the boat, he had a little brother he doted on-paid for his upkeep, his education… Bent over backwards to make sure he flew straight. All financed with money he got working his way up through the gangs. The kicker is, after he’d built up a grubstake, he went straight, too-started running a legitimate business. A few years ago, the kid was killed as an innocent bystander in a gang shooting.”

A long silence filled the air.

“That means he couldn’t have killed Vu?” she asked quietly.

“No… It means he’s a lot more complicated than your run-of-the-mill wise guy. Killing a screwup like Vu is something Vu himself might’ve done. I’m not so sure about Truong anymore.”

The persistent chirp of my pager cut through my dreams like a chain-saw.

Gail’s voice was slurred and startled. “What the hell’s that? A smoke alarm?”

I kicked off the covers, acutely conscious of the nagging bleating, and of how it might penetrate to the adjoining apartments. Three hours earlier, all talked out, I’d finally yielded to Gail’s invitation to join her in bed and had been enjoying the first deep sleep I’d had in weeks.

“It’s Frazier’s damn beeper. His way and Flynn’s of keeping in touch.”

Gail laughed as I tore through my pants, trying to locate my belt in its folds. “How intimate. Compliment them on their timing.”

I finally found it, killed the sound, and turned on the light to read its display. “You got a phone?” I asked irritably.

I dialed the number on the pager.

“Where are you?” came Frazier’s voice, answering, I was pretty sure, from a mobile phone.

“South Royalton.”

“You better get up to Burlington. There’s been a shooting. Three dead. A drive-by of a residence by two cars with automatic weapons. They’ve got one guy in custody. It’s an Asian-on-Asian deal. I’m trying to keep the shooter isolated till you get here, but the locals would like the jurisdictional details cleared up fast.”

“I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

I stood beside Frazier and a lieutenant from the Burlington police, looking through the one-way glass at a young Asian male, pacing like a caged cat from one side of the interrogation room to the other. He had long, expensively cut hair, an assortment of gold jewelry, designer clothes, and was sweating profusely. He might have been seventeen years old, stretching it.

“What do you have on him?” I asked of the lieutenant.

“Name’s Vinh Thanh Chau-sixteen. No priors so far. We’re still checking.”

“I called Montreal,” Frazier added. “He’s one of a Vietnamese gang that works mostly for Da Wang. He’s been nailed for petty theft, pimping, attempted extortion-apparently not very good at his job.”

“Ever do time?”

Frazier shook his head. “Too young.”

The lieutenant gave the Bureau man-a “feebie” to municipal cops-a sour look for upstaging him, and resumed his narrative. “He was in the second car. It smashed up about half a mile from the shooting-missed a curve. The others got away. We found three automatic weapons in the car and two handguns.”

“A Glock?”

“Nope-Beretta and a Colt-nine-millimeter and thirty-eight special.”

“He say anything?”

The sour look returned. “I wouldn’t know.”

I turned and faced him. “Walt tell you about the task force?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s got more local people on it than not, so we’ll make sure the municipal cops aren’t left out in the cold. I did want first crack at this guy, but if it looks like you can throw a bigger book at him than we can, he’s all yours. We won’t make any deals without your agreement, and whatever we learn, you learn. Fair enough?”

The lieutenant didn’t answer directly, no doubt knowing my background, and considering me a traitor to local autonomy. “Witness to the crash said he came out of the back seat. Survivors at the scene said that’s where a lot of the firepower came from, too. He likes to be called ‘Chewy.’”

“Do we know if anyone died from his shots specifically?”

“Hard to tell.”

“He been Mirandized?”

“Yeah.”

I patted his shoulder as I walked toward the door leading to the interrogation room. “Okay-thanks.”

Vinh Thanh Chau stopped his prowling when I crossed the threshold. He struck a pose, feet apart, hands on his hips, and gave me a look of wilting superiority.

I gazed at him for a moment. “Chewy? That your name?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Mine’s Gunther. I’m a Deputy U.S. MarshaI. Have a seat.”

Vinh’s eyes narrowed slightly, obviously surprised at the title. I settled into one of the chairs at the room’s central table.

The teenager stood uncertainly for a moment, and then strutted over to a chair opposite mine, taking his time.

I waited patiently before telling him, “Guess you got yourself into some trouble. Must be a little scary, boy your age.”

His face darkened with anger. “I’m not scared. You grow up fast in the streets. I done stuff you can’t even dream about.”

“Stuff you won’t do again for a long, long time.”

He watched me silently, digesting my words.

“You know the difference between a U.S. Marshal and a local cop?”

He lifted his chin slightly. “Sure, I do.”

“We enforce federal laws, and we do it with a lot more freedom than the locals. And once we nail somebody, we send him to a federal prison, like Leavenworth.”

“I can take that,” he said, but I sensed a lack of wind in his sails.

I got to my feet. “Good. Then I guess I can go home. You want to be the butt-fucked toy of some hairy con for the next thirty years, more power to you.”

I moved toward the door. Vinh half rose in his seat, his eyes wide with surprise and a twinge of the fear I’d been hoping for. “Wait-that’s it?”

I looked over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“That’s all you’re going to ask me?”

“Sure. What did you think?”

“You make a deal. You’re supposed to deal.”

I turned around completely to face him, my face incredulous. “A deal? For what? You were the triggerman in a fatal drive-by shooting. People saw you do it-we already have their statements. What can a kid like you offer me?”

His voice rose a few notes. “Plenty. I know plenty.”

I sighed and looked at my watch. “Chewy, you’re a street punk down on his luck. You’ve grabbed a purse or two, maybe thrown a brick through a window, tried to sell the services of some thirteen-year-old girl. You’ve got nothing to offer me.”

“I work for Da Wang in Montreal. He’s like Al Capone-the biggest crook in the city. I know stuff he’s done.”

I laughed at him. “Chewy-you pulling my chain here?”

He was on his feet now, pleading. “No. I’m not shitting you. I got the goods on him, man.”

I leaned forward slightly at the waist and said slowly and distinctly. “He’s in Canada, Chewy. I don’t give a fuck.”

He came around from behind the table, all cool gone by now. “What do you need? I know other stuff, too. I been around. I can be useful.”

I made a show of hesitating, as if trying to make up my mind. Finally, I shook my head. “I don’t see it. You’ve never even been in this country before. What could you know that would interest me?”

His eyes grew round with astonishment. “Shit, man-there’s how I got here. I entered illegally. I can tell you how I did it.”

I smiled. “It’s an unguarded border, for Christ’s sake.”

“No. No. It’s organized. Da Wang does it all the time. He’s got a system for getting lots of people across. The Border Patrol doesn’t know anything about it.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “They know more than you think. They know Da Wang’s been losing his shirt lately to a guy named Sonny-the one who whacked Da Wang’s snakehead not long ago.”

Vinh was almost quivering with excitement. “But that’s why I’m here. Don’t you see? We were ordered across the border to mess up Sonny’s business. Hit him on his home base-make him lose face big time.”

“You were ordered to blow holes in a building in the middle of the night? Why didn’t you throw toilet paper on the lawn, too? That would’ve really pissed him off.”

Vinh pounded the table next to him in anger. “No. Shit, man, don’t you get it? We fucked up a little is all. This is going to be like a war. We’re like soldiers, man.”

I shook my head and scratched the back of my neck, reluctantly returning to the table. “I don’t know, Chewy. Sounds a little far out. You better take me through it.”

Spinney pulled his cardboard cup of hot soup out of the Burlington Police Department’s vending machine and sat next to me on the battered, coffee-stained sofa in a corner of the officers’ day room. The first paling of dawn was starting to light the windows.

“I hear you got the little turkey to open up. Frazier was impressed.”

“Swell,” I said, sighing. “Where is Frazier? I was hoping he’d finish that briefing he was giving us.”

“He’s on the phone.” Spinney stared intently into his soup. “You think this is safe to drink?”

“I’m not about to find out. How’d things work out in Lebanon?”

He took a tentative sip and raised his eyebrows. “Pretty good. Lebanon was a wash, as expected. We figured the angle of fire came from the supermarket parking lot across the river-confirms that car you saw.”

“Silencer?”

“Not necessarily. The water was noisy enough to cover a cannon. Whoever it was wasn’t taking chances on his marksmanship, though. The ME said he used one of those new Rhino jobbies that blow apart on impact. Looked like he’d swallowed a hand grenade. We combed the whole area, canvassed for witnesses… They’re still at it, more or less, but… How ’bout you? What did you learn from your new friend?”

“That Da Wang’s declared war. He and his friends were supposed to hit a restaurant downtown, but they got lost and went to Plan B, which was the house. ’Course, Plan B was screwed up, too. They were supposed to kick in the doors and wipe the place out-make a statement no one would forget. My friend, as you call him, blames the lead car-said they lost their nerve and turned it into a drive-by. Da Wang’s going to have to improve on his talent.”

“What’s the scope of this war?”

“That’s where this kid fizzled out. I guess they knew enough not to give him the whole picture. He’s positive he was one of several teams, but he had no idea what the other targets were. Didn’t know who ‘Sonny’ was, either, although Da Wang’s made him their top priority. Nor did he know how much damage Sonny’s inflicted, although I guess we can assume things are not going well.”

“What about the snakehead angle?”

“That was more interesting. We were right about the alien smuggling-it’s a major cash cow, and it’s where Truong seems to be doing Da Wang the most harm. Da Wang has a new snakehead, but he’s having a tough time getting customers. Word’s gotten out the organization ain’t what it used to be. The RCMP’s been getting tip-offs-presumably from Truong’s crew-telling them where the illegals are being assembled prior to crossing. Chewy-the kid’s nickname-claims everyone’s getting sweaty palms, wondering if Da Wang’s losing his touch. Sonny’s taken over a lot of the Vermont restaurants, money’s started to dry up, and word’s gotten back to Da Wang’s backers in the old country. Truong has his own contacts there, so now alien and heroin suppliers are either playing both sides or holding off entirely until the dust settles.”

“Guess Truong’s putting all those import-business contacts to use after all,” Spinney mused. “Makes you wonder if we’re missing the boat here. Could be all that bad-boy-goes-straight stuff was pure smoke screen.”

I silently watched him as he sipped from his cup. It was an uncomfortably plausible point he’d just made, and one to which I was inordinately sensitive. In our line of work, greed, power, and frustration were the most popular criminal stimulants, and they tended to be expressed hot and fast. Ten-year-old, karma-induced revenge rarely came up. What were the chances I was overstating Truong’s motive-ennobling a crook whose ambitions were no different than Da Wang’s?

I backed away from any hard-set conclusions, biding my time with a short-term truism. “Either way, we get the same mess on our hands.”

Walt Frazier suddenly appeared at the doorway, looking worn and tired. Nearing retirement, he probably wished nights like these would be forever banished to his past. In that, he was not alone. Even Spinney, the youngest of us, looked ready for twelve hours of sleep. I doubted any of us would be allowed that luxury.

“We gonna keep Chewy or let the Burlington PD have him?” I asked as Frazier approached.

He pulled a molded-plastic chair over and sat down heavily, stretching out his legs. “That’s what I was trying to sort out. Maggie wants to see what we’ve got first. Nice interview, by the way-too bad it was such shitty news. I suppose we can hope the other hit teams are as brain dead as this one. I wish to hell he could’ve told us more-be nice to head ’em off, instead of running around picking up the pieces.”

“We could do that if we knew what properties Truong controlled,” I mused, half to myself.

“Oh-good luck with that one.” Spinney finished off his soup with one last gulp.

Suddenly inspired by the challenge, I got up and moved over to a pay phone mounted on the wall. “There might be a way.”

I picked up the receiver, dialed Dan Flynn’s pager number, and hung up, smiling. “Sweet revenge.”

Five minutes later, the phone rang. “Morning, Dan. It’s Joe. Walt and Lester and I were shooting the shit up here in Burlington. Thought you might like to put in your two cents.”

“Fuck you. What d’you want?” Flynn’s voice was barely a mumble.

I laughed, feeling no guilt whatsoever. “A while back, you were telling me how some of the Asian restaurants get their supplies exclusively from outfits in New York or Boston-everything from napkins to noodles to menus.”

“Yeah. They don’t buy anything locally.”

“You said that’s what made it difficult to know what was in the delivery truck, or what might be moving from place to place.”

“Right.”

“What was your source for that? Is there someone we could talk to so we could identify one of these trucks-maybe put a tail on it? We’re trying to find a way to pinpoint Truong’s properties.”

“I heard it at a conference in New York. Someone on the Asian-crime squad down there was talking about it. His name was… Damn. I don’t have my computer handy. Fred something… Wilkinson. Fred Wilkinson. Give him a call. He was real friendly.”

I thanked him, dialed Information, and eventually worked my way to Wilkinson’s office, preparing to leave my name and pager number, along with a brief message. Instead, Wilkinson picked up in person, sounding as tired as I was.

I briefly explained who I was and what we were up to. His response, almost cutting me off in mid-sentence, was, “Ryder, U-Haul, sometimes just a plain step-van. They don’t go regularly, they don’t follow the same route twice in a row, and most of the time they’re clean as a whistle.”

“There been any upheavals at your end recently? A change in management at one of the suppliers?”

“Who knows? But I wouldn’t waste my time with delivery trucks. Unless you got some inside dope, you’ll probably end up busting a shipment of rice.”

His disinterest was as palpable as his fatigue. I thanked him for his time, and let him head off to bed-not without some envy.

Spinney read my expression. “No soap?”

“Not really…” I scratched my head. “Still… There’s a restaurant owner in Bratt who was squeezed by Truong’s boys. If we can squeeze him in turn, maybe we can get some help about the rest of the pipeline.”

Spinney leaped to his feet in mock enthusiasm. “Hot damn. Another drive down the interstate?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to me yet. “S’pose so.”

Frazier spoke up. “Look, if you two are heading off again, let me at least give you the punch line to my briefing on Truong Van Loc. I think you’ll find it useful. The rest I can give later.”

We both looked at him expectantly.

“Joe, you were saying that when you stopped his car last winter, you thought none of them knew each other. Turns out that when Truong went legit, he had a small staff-mostly warehouse people to handle the imports. One of them was Henry Lam. Henry disappeared when Truong did. Apparently, they were pretty tight-the San Francisco police labeled Lam a surrogate son of sorts.”

Spinney and I exchanged glances, having guessed at some kind of connection.

“Also, I got the goods on Wang Chien-kuo. Not only was he in San Francisco at the time Truong’s little brother got whacked, he was one of the Dragon Boys leaders.”

I stared at him, the final large piece falling into place with satisfying logic. “Did he order the hit on Chinatown Gang?”

“He was in a position to. Truong undoubtedly knows more about that than we do. We also found out that of the two known Dragon Boys shooters from San Francisco we thought were still alive, one was found badly decomposed two months ago in a Florida swamp-a confirmed drug killing. It took them till last week to match dental records. The last one hasn’t been seen in years-even his own family thinks he’s dead by now.”

I raised my eyebrows at Spinney. “Profit may be part of what’s driving Truong Van Loc, but revenge is starting to look pretty reasonable.”