Coit Tower (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Kang shook his head. “Why can’t you two get along?”

  “Annoying comes to mind,” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “I said these egg rolls were a good find.”

  “I heard you.”

  Then why did you ask? In an effort to quickly change the subject, I pointed at a building about twenty feet away. “There’s the tong.”

  “And there she is,” Kang said.

  Only one woman was noticeable among the crowd standing outside the tong. Not because she had dressed her short and stout frame in white slacks with a bright red and yellow top or pulled it all together with an equally colorful wooden necklace with large beads leading to an enormous flower pendant. It also wasn’t her long red nails or the multitude of jade bangles that encircled each arm. What did it for me was the fat cigar she had clasped between her fingers, the one that she waved in front of her as she addressed a group of individuals that had formed a half circle around her. They all leaned in with their heads slightly turned. The cigar didn’t seem to faze them, but I had zeroed in on it and couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It’s not often that one sees a fifty-something Chinese woman puffing on a cigar out in public.

  We were too far to hear any of the conversation, but something she said caused the group, including her, to erupt into bowed-over, loss-of-breath laughter. By the time we were within earshot of the group, the show was over, and they were dissipating.

  “Ethel,” Kang called out.

  The woman, now fully composed, spun around, and her eyes settled on my partner. She smiled, causing her cheeks to bulge. “Kyle, you made it.”

  “I see you still have the habit,” he said.

  She held up her hand, giving me a better look at the smoking brown stump. “What, this? I only smoke them on special occasions.” She looked around, eyes wide. “I believe this is one of them.”

  Kang bent down and gave the woman a hug. After pulling away, he said, “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Abby Kane.”

  The woman flashed me the same smile and extended her right hand. “Ethel Wu. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same here.”

  “Abby is an agent with the FBI,” Kang pointed out.

  “FBI? Chinatown has you to thank for clearing out the undesirables from the Hop Sing Tong.”

  “A lot of individuals were involved, including Kyle. By the way, how did you two meet?” I asked.

  “I’ve known this man for at least fifteen years,” she said, glancing at Kang for confirmation.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’d say that sounds about right. Ethel and I first met when I was just a beat cop making the rounds in Chinatown. One day while on a lunch break, I stopped by the CCBA over on Stockton—”

  A crinkle must have formed on my brow.

  “It’s short for Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association,” he quickly followed up.

  “I’m not familiar with the organization.”

  “They look out for the rights of Chinese Americans, specifically immigrants. There are branches in almost every major city of the U.S.”

  “Kyle wanted to know more about the history of our association,” Ethel continued. “I thought it strange at the time. Students needing information for a school project are the ones stopping by, but a young police officer?” she said with a playful eye roll. “That was a first.”

  She took a couple of short pulls on her cigar. White, billowing smoke shot out from her mouth as the end burned brightly back to life.

  “Ethel was the one who encouraged me to take my interest in Chinese history seriously.”

  “He had a knack for it. It would have been a shame if he hadn’t,” she added.

  “Do you still work at the CCBA?” I asked.

  Kang answered. “Ethel ran the CCBA when I first met her and still does to this day.”

  “What can I say? I’m passionate about what we do.”

  “I’m guessing your presence here means the association supports the reopening of the tong.”

  “It does. We believe second chances are needed in life. The tong has made it very clear that they are committed to community improvement.”

  I couldn’t tell whether her words were genuine or if it simply was political speak, but I decided not to question it further.

  “You have to tour the tong. The first two floors are open to the public.”

  What about the other three floors?

  Ethel walked us over to a portable table where four women sat. “The tong is asking that all visitors sign in before entering. One of these lovely volunteers from the CCBA will serve as your guide and can answer any questions you might have.”

  “Thanks, Ethel.” Kang gently squeezed her arm before she departed.

  After Kang and I signed in, one of the women sitting behind the table stood and came around to the front. “Hello, I’m Mable Chun. I’ll be your guide.”

  The first floor of the tong housed a reception area and a small informational library with ample seating for visitors. The second floor housed a conference room, a kitchen, a couple of offices, and a recreation room where, I guessed, members could congregate and play mahjong or whatever it was they did here. The walls were decorated with Chinese art, and a few pieces of antique teak furniture dotted both floors. The place was straightforward. Nothing I saw appeared helpful toward our investigation.

  “Do you have any questions?” our guide asked.

  “What’s on the other floors?” I pointed at a staircase that had been roped off.

  Mable was an elderly Chinese woman who wasn’t much taller than me. She had embraced the gray and kept it short with curls. Brown age spots covered her arms, but she had pep in her walk. I had to assume she was in her seventies, around Po Po’s age. With a sweet smile, she said, “You know, they don’t tell us what’s up there except that it’s used for storage.” A crinkle appeared on her brow. “If you ask me, seems like a terrible waste of space.”

  I couldn’t agree more. What could they possibly be storing that required three entire floors?

  Chapter 5

  Our short tour of the tong had us back outside and dodging sidewalk traffic fairly quickly. A man walked by us with a plate held up to his face, slurping a large, white noodle into his mouth. That could only mean one thing.

  “Someone is selling chow fun,” I said, punching Kang in the arm. “Let’s find that booth.”

  My head swiveled back and forth as I pushed through the crowd. The egg roll I had eaten earlier hadn’t done much to quell the rumbling in my stomach. In fact, it had only intensified the growl.

  “Not much came out of the tong tour,” Kang said, catching up.

  “We’re exploring angles.”

  “You have a bounty on your head, and our only person of interest is an assassin who has all but disappeared off the face of this earth. Time isn’t what we have. We need to figure out a way to eliminate that prize offer. No money, no reason to come after you.”

  “You’d think,” I said.

  “It’s a start.”

  “Let’s not rule out the tong just yet. I feel like there’s a connection that we’re not seeing. It wasn’t long ago that the place was teeming with Triads charged with managing the game. I don’t buy that a street fair changes all of that.”

  “We might find an answer on one of those top three floors. I’ll get the ball rolling on a search warrant.”

  “Great.”

  “What about our mysterious assassin? Have you picked up any more information, aside from what you’ve already gathered?”

  Kang was referring to the information my protégée, Leslie Choi, had turned over. She had assumed my old position as head of the OCTB, the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau, in Hong Kong. The intel came from a contact she had with the Shanghai police force. “Nothing really. They think she’s a gun-for-hire who works for underground organizations like the Triads. She’s not a person of interest as far as they’re concerned. But Reilly mentioned he would reach out t
o a contact with the CIA who had spent time in Asia.”

  Kang bobbed his head from side to side. “Every lead needs to be chased down.”

  “I’ll email you what I have. Maybe you’ll see something I haven’t.”

  We found the food booth serving up chow fun and stood in line.

  “You know what still bothers me?” Kang asked as he studied the menu of offerings.

  “What?”

  “The Triad involvement. I still don’t get why. Even if they were making money on some sort of entry fee for playing the game, how much could they realistically charge these killers for something they could do for free?”

  “It’s not a solid enough reason to be involved. And I don’t think the game is something they developed. Whoever is behind it recruited the gang. There’s a connection that we’re not seeing, and getting to Sei might give us an answer.”

  When we reached the front of the line, a smiling teenage girl took our order. We both opted for the beef chow fun. In the makeshift kitchen behind her was a thin man dressed in a white undershirt and a stained apron. He stood over an industrial-sized steel wok that had blue and yellow flames licking the bottom.

  Wielding a metal spatula and ladle, he made quick work of the sliced flank steak he had just dropped into the rounded frying pan. As he tossed the beef to a golden brown, the clanking and scraping of the utensils played a tune that was music to my ears.

  He dipped the spatula into containers housing chopped garlic, black pepper, and hoi sin sauce. Into the steak mixture the ingredients went, fueling the sizzle of the searing oil one by one.

  Flip. Flip. Flip. Green onions. Flip. Flip. Flip. Sliced onions.

  After a few more tosses and turns, in went the noodles, dampening the lovely hiss but upping the aroma. And just as quickly as he had gathered the ingredients into the wok, he scooped them out, dividing them up between two paper plates.

  Kang and I spent the next ten minutes slurping, chewing, and swallowing chow fun that was much too hot to be slurped, chewed, and swallowed that quickly. But when it came to food, we were dumb like that.

  When our plates were empty, we caught up with the kids and Po Po to enjoy the rest of the day the best we could, which was a little hard because, you know, I had a bounty on my head.

  Chapter 6

  We made it though the rest of the weekend without any incident. Castro and Lin had settled into our home with minimal intrusion, and I didn’t foresee any problems arising from their presence. It seemed as though each member of the family had accepted them for their own reasons.

  For Lucy, they were two other people she could play with. Ryan took advantage of every opportunity to pick their brains. Po Po loved that applause for her culinary skills came from someone other than us. And I, well, so long as everyone had a smile, I was happy.

  That Monday morning, I woke earlier than usual and relaxed with a cup of green tea. Usually it’s a mad rush to get the kids and myself ready for the day. I’m almost always left with waiting until I get to work to have my first sip, unless I have time to fill a travel mug for the commute, which is almost never.

  I fixed Castro a cup of coffee and chatted with him for a bit on the front porch. He sat on the wooden railing, one leg touching the ground, the other left dangling. I plopped my butt down in a rattan papasan chair, pulling both feet up and tucking them under me.

  He wanted to know how I would proceed with my investigation, given the fact that I had become a target.

  “It’s business as usual.” I took my first sip and swallowed, chasing the warmth down my throat. “I’m running down leads and hoping they point me to the mastermind.”

  “What’s your best assessment on his location?” Castro took two large gulps, nearly finishing his coffee.

  “More?” I motioned to the cup in his hand.

  He shook his head and balanced the mug on the railing.

  “Hard to tell.” The truth: I had no idea. Initially I’d thought the mastermind was in the States, but my trip to Bangkok made me think otherwise. I’d had a feeling he was there, watching me. “I think he’s mobile, able to move from city to city with ease. I don’t believe he’s a fugitive or even a POI for any law enforcement agency.”

  Castro raised both eyebrows, forming thick rows along his forehead. “That makes it harder. He’s hiding in the open. What’s your lead?”

  Up until that point, I had withheld details from Castro, mostly because he wasn’t actively working the case, but I realized throughout this investigation, I had gotten no closer to identifying the mastermind. I needed the help.

  “I’m sorry. I’m prying. It’s not my case.”

  I must have been mulling longer than I thought. “You’re fine. I could use a sounding board.”

  Castro smiled, giving his thick mustache a bit of thinness. “We’re all on the same team. What do you have so far?”

  I brought him up to speed on the gameplay and how the Triads managed it locally. “That’s the Chinatown connection. We put two and two together when we gained access to the game and were able to masquerade as Team Carlson.”

  Castro said nothing as I summarized my trip to Bangkok and my altercation with Sei.

  “So a tong that’s turned over a new leaf and a female assassin that has a better disappearing act than a Vegas magician. You have two long roads to follow.”

  “Any thoughts?” I asked.

  Castro tugged at his mustache as his eyes darted to the wooden floorboards of the porch. The baby-blue paint was weathered and cracked. “Well, until you hit the tong with a search warrant, it’s still a viable angle. Could be something there. I’d do the same. But the girl, that’s the wildcard. But from what you’ve told me, she’s your best bet, if you can locate her.”

  “And that’s the problem. Aside from catching one of these killers alive and questioning them, I’m really hoping a search of the tong turns up something useful. The connection between the Triads and the game never made much sense to me. It’s not characteristic for them to be involved with it.”

  “Maybe they’re not the ones behind it.”

  “They’re managing the game on a local level.”

  “I’m not denying that, but maybe they’re being paid to do it. Maybe their involvement is purely contractual. A job for them.”

  I nodded. “It certainly makes more sense: another form of income.” I glanced at my watch. It was time to get the kids in motion and myself ready for work.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Abby.”

  “What makes you think I am?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Because if I were you, I might be inclined to do the same. You think your two leads are crap, right?”

  Castro was right. My conversation with him had reminded me of that fact.

  He slid off the railing and shook his left pant leg straight. “There is one thing you should take solace in. The bounty on your head… it’s a deterrent. It’s meant to slow you down. At one point, you were close, whether you realize it or not.”

  What Castro said made a lot of sense. The more I occupied myself with staying alive, the less focused I would be on finding the mastermind. Something I said, did, or saw was enough to spook the mastermind—enough for him to come after me. Either that or I was a mosquito that he had grown tired of swatting away.

  I thanked him for his input and headed back inside knowing full well that my case was on track. I just didn’t know how.

  Chapter 7

  I waved goodbye to the kids even though I couldn’t see them through the blacked-out windows of the agency-issued SUV. Lin had the responsibility of chauffeuring the kids to and from school. Once they were out of my eyesight, I got into the driver’s seat of my new car—a black Dodge Charger, complete with 370-hp HEMI V8. It gave me balls.

  I know what you’re thinking: Gee, Abby, aren’t you a little too small for that car? Shut up.

  Up until a few months ago, I’d had an Impala. While it provided plenty of room for the family, it was bo
xy and didn’t have the handling I needed. I had no choice but to kick it to the curb and get a four-door that wasn’t afraid to corner and tackle hills.

  I had just backed out of my driveway when Kang rang me on my cell. “Abby, I just picked up the search warrant for the tong. Let’s hit it ASAP.”

  “I’ll meet you outside the tong in fifteen minutes.”

  “See you soon.”

  I threw the black beast into gear but didn’t punch the gas. I figured Kang had either paid an early-morning visit to a judge’s home or met them at the courts—most likely the second of the two—so he would be coming from the Civic Center, and I would easily beat him to the location.

  Exactly fifteen minutes later, I turned onto Waverly Place. I parked fifty feet away from the entrance of the tong and waited in my car. Foot traffic was minimal, and besides mine, there were only a few other cars parked on the street. Most of the small shops hadn’t opened yet. The restaurant on the corner of Waverly and Clay had, though.

  From my vehicle, I had an unobstructed view of the tong’s building. Nothing about it stood out; it looked much like the other tongs located on the lane. It stood five stories tall and had been constructed mostly with red brick. A platform fire escape snaked its way down the front of the building. Plastered across the railings were forest green billboards with gold lettering touting the tong’s name. A double glass door with a dark limousine tint sealed the front entrance.

  While I waited for Kang, I checked my email from my phone. I saw one from Reilly. He wanted to see me as soon as I got to the office. I emailed him back that I would follow up with him as soon as Kang and I were done searching the tong.

  I thought a little about what Castro had said to me earlier that morning, about the bounty on my head being a deterrent, and wondered if it really was just that. Maybe we were the only team that got the message, and it was a way to send us off into a never-ending chase of our tails and allow the game to continue without interference.