Angel in the Full Moon. Don Easton

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c and his brothers.”

      “For now. Incidentally, if you ever read or hear their names someplace, the Vietnamese put their family name first, followed by their middle name, and then their given name. Formally, they address each other by their given name. I would be known as Taggart, Bruce Jack, and if formally addressed, would be called Mister Jack.”

      “Okay, Mister Jack, so neither of the two brothers have any criminal history?”

      “No convictions, but Th

o was the owner of a couple of rental properties where the Vietnamese tenants had grow-ops. They were taken down two years ago by CFSEU.”

      “Doesn’t take these guys long to learn about B.C. bud,” said Laura.

      “How are you making out with Mister Porsche and Mister Jaguar?” asked Jack.

      “They are both well known,” replied Laura. “No convictions, but I just got off the phone with Drugs. Mister Porsche beat an importation charge a few years ago when he tried to smuggle a boatload of hash into B.C. He beat the rap in court by claiming that the dope was on its way to Alaska and that a storm blew them into Canadian waters. The judge said there was no intent to commit a crime in Canada. Mister Jaguar is a major cocaine dealer but has never been caught.”

      “Jag and Porsche work together?”

      Laura shook her head. “Not as far as any records show. They appear to be independent of each other.”

      “Our Russians are the common denominator,” declared Jack.

      “I’ve also checked for criminal records on the rest of the partygoers,” said Laura. “Lots with criminal records, but all minor stuff. Low-level drug dealers, that type of thing.”

      “I think our Russians were just throwing their version of an office party,” said Jack. “I doubt that any of these people are really their friends.”

      “So where do you want to go from here?”

      “For now, concentrate our time on the Russians. If we lose them, then we’ll work on

c as a backup.”

      “Sounds good.”

      “I’m going to give VPD a call and see what they have on these guys. The Asian Touch is in their turf.”

      Jack’s phone call to the Vancouver City Police soon found him transferred around where he ended up speaking to Detective Rocco Pasquali of the Anti-Gang Unit.

      Jack had met Pasquali on past investigations and knew him as a good cop who was not afraid to work. More importantly, he didn’t let inter-agency rivalry affect his work. All he wanted was for bad guys to go to jail.

      “The Tr

c expanded his operation out to Surrey last year.”

      “The Orient Delight,” said Jack.

      “You got it. Physically, he’s a small man. A good fart would probably knock him over, but he’s got the power. He heads a Vietnamese gang of at least fifty. They’re into just about everything. Extortion, robberies, drugs, juvenile prostitution ... you name it. They’re extremely violent. Not afraid to take a machete to someone just for making eye contact with them.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      “Lately, the asshole has insulated himself enough as to be basically untouchable. His top lieutenant is a guy by the name of Giang. A real psychopath. I mean that. He deals coke at the pound level. He came to Canada when he was seven. I really think the Vietnam War did something to him before he came over. He really is one disturbed individual.”

      “So Giang gets his coke from

c?”

      “No, Giang freelances that on his own.

c uses him more as an enforcer and to keep his girls in line. The two don’t hang together as friends. Giang uses a place called Lucky Lucy’s Bar and Grill as his base of operations. That’s downtown here in Vancouver, on Kingsway, close to The Asian Touch.”

      “Any other hangouts?” asked Jack.

      “There is also a restaurant close to Lucky Lucy’s called the Mekong Palace. The owner of the Mekong is a nice old guy. Doesn’t want these guys in there but doesn’t have much choice. If Giang is not at any of these places, he usually can be found hanging out with the other punks in

c’s gang at Billiard Bill’s out in Surrey. That place is just a block down the street from the Orient Pleasure.”

      “I really appreciate this, Rocco.”

      “No sweat. I’ll send a copy of everything we have on this group over to you. You need a hand with anything—surveillance, takedowns, you name it—give me a call. Day or night, doesn’t matter.”

      “Sounds like you want him bad,” said Jack.

      “I do.

c’s gang ... half of it is composed of juveniles, for Christ’s sake.”

      “Their conscience isn’t as developed. They don’t think of the real consequences of their actions. Explains the extreme violence.”

      “Yeah, and they’re more easily influenced and brainwashed ... and usually get probation. You catch

c and there’s a bottle of tequila in it for you.”

      “Thanks. Actually I’ve switched to gin martinis.”

      “Catch him,” said Rocco, “and I’ll be buying the gin.”

      “No reward for Giang?” asked Jack.

      Rocco chuckled and said, “What are you trying to do, bleed me dry? Giang’s not real smart. He’s been caught before. Unfortunately he’s smart enough not to cross

c.”

      “Tell you what,” said Jack. “When I nail

c, you buy the gin and I’ll bring the vermouth. If I happen to nail Giang along the way, then you can bring the olives, too.”

      “That’s