Loong’s hands were trembling. “Please, you don’t understand. I’m not involved in these things. This is a job for me. I don’t want my employer to think I’m not doing a good job. I could be in trouble because good jobs are scarce.”
“Knowledge and involvement are two different things.” Nick tried his best to sound sympathetic and intimidating at the same time. “Tell us what you know. Your cooperation will be rewarded. So far, you’ve committed no offences.” Nick allowed the emphasis to sink in.
“We’re under a Dragon roof. The Flying Dragons started getting in for free when Lo Chien triad tried to roof in on the club. Mr. Sui wasn’t interested in paying protection money to Lo Chien. Lo Chien attempted to kidnap Mr. Sui one night, and some Dragon gang members who were drinking at the club helped foil the kidnapping attempt.”
“Did you report the kidnapping to the police?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know if my boss did or didn’t.”
“Why did the Dragon gang members help Mr. Sui? Tell us about his relationship with them?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my place to ask questions. I only know that he allows the Dragons the use of the club. They come for drinking and karaoke.”
“Does anyone else get free membership to the club?”
“Not that I can remember.”
Nick produced mug shots of Gee Tung and Shaupan Chau. He also showed Loong a sketch of Li Mann. “Recognize any of these guys?”
Loong looked at the pictures blankly. Nick repeated the question.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“The drugs on the third floor, who supplies them?”
“What drugs?”
Kappolis glared at the general manager. “Don’t fuck with us. We ain’t stupid. You’re already down on charges of prostitution, association with criminal elements. You don’t need drug trafficking and soliciting. The way I see it, you’ve already racked up about seven years’ worth of charges.”
“We don’t supply drugs. The clientele bring their own and we look the other way.”
“This is a copy of your membership list? Everybody’s name is on here?”
“Yes.”
“It better be.” Nick stuck the list in his notebook computer case. He stood, and nodded briefly to Kappolis, who pulled out a pair of handcuffs from behind his back.
“Okay, Loong,” said the detective. “Let’s go down to the station. I gotta book ya.”
A few minutes later Nick and the detective were outside the building, leaning against the railing as they compared notes.
“In my opinion, tits and ass is nothing more than a cover to run a human smuggling operation. When you get beyond the girls without underwear, you’re dealing with the same bullshit of moving bodies here from the Third World,” said Nick.
Flipping the pages of his notebook, Nick wasn’t thinking about the street scene, but he registered a brief flash of white in his peripheral vision as the Chrysler sedan with the tinted windows came towards them. Out of sheer reflex they hit the ground at the sound of gunfire. Thank God for Kevlar vests, Nick thought, as he struggled to get his gun.
Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Nick picked himself up, put his hand to his head, and felt the stickiness. Blood. His left temple above his eye was bleeding — he’d been hit by flying debris. It took another moment to realize it was nothing serious. Kappolis, too, was in one piece. But Loong was dead. He was lying flat on his back, eyes open, blood pouring from holes in his head and stomach. Another bystander was also dead, and half a dozen were shot and bleeding. The officer beside him had been shot, but was alive. Nick, being the closest, did what he could to staunch the flow of blood from the man’s wounded leg.
They spent the next hour loading bodies into ambulances and seeking out eyewitnesses.
chapter six
“… the death toll from last night’s drive-by shooting in Toronto has gone up. A third person has died in hospital. The incident is the fifth drive-by shooting in that city in the past three months. Crime in this city seems to be way up. And a good proportion of it is committed by foreign elements who’ve managed to elude your department for almost a decade. Would you care to comment on the situation?”
A television camera crew had caught Nick trying to flee through the back doors of the Immigration Building.
“What situation are you referring to? If it’s the drive-by shooting, the police and the RCMP Organized Crime Task Force have apprehended several gang members from a competing triad. Warrants have been issued to do search and seizure of their premises. Everything’s under control.”
“What are you going to do about criminals from other countries coming here illegally?”
“I’m glad you asked me that,” said Nick. He looked anything but glad.
Grace hadn’t seen or spoken to him in seven months, but from the televised image she could see that his face was bruised and bandaged up as if he’d been in a bar brawl. She felt her eyes tearing up. She couldn’t help it. The sight of him filled her with tenderness and yearning. Just about every case he worked on had left its mark on him, like a soldier in a nasty war.
“Unfortunately it takes an incident like this to get the public’s attention. I don’t want to alarm anybody, but sometimes people wilfully destroy their passports and claim asylum. When that happens we really don’t know who the hell they are. And once they leave the airport, there’s virtually no way we can police them. Unless of course they commit a crime and get caught. I’m sorry I can’t talk further. I’ve got to run to a meeting.”
There was a two-second shot of Nick diving into an unmarked police cruiser.
Grace turned off the television. Nick Slovak and his department were in deep trouble, and not just from a public relations angle. Suddenly, a case about a botched human smuggling operation had taken a 360-degree turn. One dead immigration officer and a drive-by shooting that had claimed the lives of innocent people. She wished she could help him out. But she couldn’t just call him up out of the blue.
She sighed. Once upon a time she had had two men in her life. Now she was dancing solo. She was a woman alone, without the benefit of husband or children. She had a nice house, but it was devoid of photographs of a handsome husband and laughing bambinos. All she had was her career, her ambition, and her mortgage. There were days when life looked pretty hollow.
The phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. The call display on her kitchen phone showed her workplace number. Couldn’t they leave her alone even for one day? She wasn’t scheduled for any cases.
“This is scheduling. The deputy minister would like you to sit as second chair on a case, the one that’s in the news about that snakehead.”
“Which one would that be? There seem to be so many.”
“Gee Tung, the one implicated in the murder of an immigration officer. Maybe last night’s drive-by shooting, too. The deputy minister wants to expedite the case. Speedy deportation. Mark Crosby’s presiding and they want a second chair. Your name came up.”
“Can I think about it? I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Just talk it over with Crosby. We called him at the Vancouver office. He should be back on the eight o’clock flight tomorrow. All you’ve got to do is secure his consent.”
She mulled it over as she cleaned her kitchen. Cases like this didn’t come along every day. It had all the ingredients of a good movie plot: immoral alien smugglers, Asian triads fighting