The prisoner lay on the bed, mute and passive. He gave no indication that he understood.
Dubois continued, “We have two options in dealing with you. We can charge you with conspiracy to kill an immigration officer. You’ll probably get life for that. Or you can cooperate with us and we’ll give you a deal.”
“I didn’t kill anybody.” His voice was faint.
“We know that. We know killing and attempting to kill are two different things. Now that night on the boat, there were three of you. You, Shaupan and the snakehead who got away. The one who got away, what’s his name?” demanded Dubois. He grabbed the prisoner and pinched his cheeks painfully together. “I want the name of the third snakehead. Ballistics tells us the slug that killed the immigration officer wasn’t from your gun or from Shaupan’s. That means the third guy was the killer. What’s his name?”
“I want to see my lawyer. After I see my lawyer, we talk.”
Dubois’s eyes were pinpricks of anger now. He turned to Nick and said, “What did I tell you about these bad-ass foreigners? They got their rights and privileges down pat. Don’t care diddly-squat about their responsibilities to the country that welcomed them with open arms.” He turned and casually delivered a sharp hand to the prisoner’s mouth.
“Excuse me, you little fucker. This ain’t no legal aid clinic here, so don’t you pull that line on me again. Understand that? No calls to any scumbag lawyer until I get some answers.” Then he was in Gee Tung’s face again. “We found that telephone number in your pocket and traced it to a place called the Mandarin Club. We know from police records that you’re a member of the Flying Dragons, and that you’ve moved up a coupla notches from being a foot soldier. So gimme the dope. What’s the Flying Dragons’ connection to the Mandarin Club?”
“I want to see my lawyer.”
Hand raised ready to strike, Dubois said through clenched teeth, “What did I just tell ya, you sorry piece of shit?”
“They’ll kill me if I talk.”
Dubois pushed Gee Tung’s head into the concrete wall.
“And if you don’t talk they’ll kill you anyway, just to be on the safe side. If I don’t kill you first. Either way, you’re a dead man if you don’t cooperate with us. Look at it this way. Cooperate and we’ll save you from life imprisonment and possibly extradition. We’ll cut a deal for you and give you protection.” Dubois paused. “Otherwise, first you go to prison, then we kick you out of the country.” He smacked the prisoner hard across the side of his head with the back of his hand.
Nick didn’t move or speak. He could see that the prisoner was frightened. Ordinarily he would have intervened at this point, before any real damage was done. He wondered how far he was prepared to let Dubois go. Would he let him beat the prisoner half to death to get the information they wanted? He thought he might, if it would help them find Walter’s killer.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll talk. The Mandarin Club is under Dragon roof.”
“Speak English. What’s this Dragon roof stuff?”
“The Flying Dragons give protection to the Mandarin Club from other gangs.”
“Now, why the fuck would the Dragons want to do a thing like that?”
“That’s the deal they have.”
“Who inked that kinda deal?”
Nick winced at the sight of Dubois raising his hand to strike the prisoner again. Unable to shift his position lying on the bed, Gee Tung raised his hand feebly to block the blow.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. All I know is the Dragons give protection to the club, and they use one of the karaoke rooms for meetings.”
“You’re telling me that the Mandarin Club is the official hangout for the Flying Dragons?”
“We go to the club. We go to sing karaoke and to play mah-jong.”
“No, stupid!” snapped Dubois, whacking the prisoner across the side of his head. “Did ya use the club for gang business? Like did ya plan the illegal alien smuggling operation there?”
“Gang members never do business in their homes. They want to protect their families from reprisals later on.”
“Then how often did you and the other Flying Dragons members meet at the club?”
“Sometimes once a week or twice a month to sing karaoke.”
“I don’t want to hear about stupid karaoke singing! I want to know if protection money also exchanged hands at the club? Christ almighty!” Dubois swore at the prisoner and then turned to Nick. “I can’t believe someone this stupid could plan a smuggling operation worth half a million.”
“I don’t know about protection money being paid.”
“Bullshit! Who’s your contact at the club?”
“The general manager. We call him when we want to book the karaoke room.”
“Is that how you guys do business? You book a karaoke room?”
The prisoner nodded.
“What about your pal who pulled the trigger on an immigration officer and got away?”
A terrified look came over the prisoner’s face.
Dubois spoke softly now, but his voice was full of menace. “You’re gonna be a dead man. We’re your only hope. Cooperate and we’ll give you immunity from extradition to the States.”
Nick touched his friend lightly on the shoulder to subtly remind Dubois that extradition was not in the cards. Even if the U.S. wanted to extradite a permanent resident of Canada, the police did not have control or influence over the parole board or jurisdictional issues like extradition.
“I’m afraid. They’ll kill me.”
Nick spoke for the first time. “I’ll kill you myself. What’s the name of your friend who killed the immigration officer? Give us that and a good description of him and I’ll make sure you get a good plea bargain arrangement. You may even get to stay in Canada.”
“Li Mann. His name is Li Mann Vu.”
“Good,” announced Dubois. “I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding ’cause you see, I ain’t into this police brutality stuff. I only use it when I have to. Get my drift?”
“One more thing,” said Nick, “ever hear of a smuggler called Tu?”
“No. Never.”
For the next two hours, the three men worked with a police artist via a video conference call to make a composite drawing of Li Mann. After the video equipment was disconnected, Dubois answered the call on his pager.
Driving back into the city in Dubois’s RCMP cruiser, they rehashed the interrogation.
“That guy’s no mastermind,” said Nick. “For sure he’s not the ringleader. I wonder if there’s any connection between Tu and the snakeheads in this operation?”
“The question is, who is the mastermind? It’s either this Li Mann guy or someone else behind the scenes.”
“From other cases that we’ve cracked, it’s usually someone who doesn’t like to get his hands soiled,” said Nick.
“And he’s got the money and the contacts to make a good living out of it. I’d profile the guy as someone living on a net income of several million bucks a year,