Black Karma (3 page)

As she walked toward the entrance of the alley, the stench of stale beer and urine made the cold wind blowing down the street suddenly more appealing. She raised the sleeve of her jacket to cover her nose and paid careful attention to where she put her feet in the shaded, narrow lane. Broken glass, empty beer cans, and used condoms littered the cracked asphalt.

A soggy box with discarded clothes rested against the side of the alley. Crack addicts and the homeless still called the Mission District home. Despite efforts by the city to gentrify the area, life on the streets remained the same.

A green metal door at the end of the backstreet displayed the address in white paint. Above the door, a lifeless neon sign spelled out “BOO S” in darkened vacuum tubes. The missing letter left Bai to wonder.

She shouldered the door open to find herself in a cavernous space. Steel beams and brick walls supported a high ceiling. Boxing equipment filled the room. Heavy bags, light bags, and speed bags hung from the ceiling joists and jutted from the walls on metal frames. Sparring gear and weights lay scattered on the floor and racked along the walls. A large, heavy mat occupied the middle of the room. Over the mat floated a padded cage suspended by chains. The smell of musty socks and sweat permeated the atmosphere.

“You here to cage fight?” asked a scornful voice.

Bai turned to find a swarthy young man with black, close-cropped hair glaring at her. He appeared to be a couple of inches shorter than her, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in girth. Below one of his brown eyes, a tattooed teardrop on his cheek informed her he belonged to a gang and had a kill to his credit. His cold gaze measured her while his lips curled back into a predatory grin.

She smiled. “You claim Norteño?”

“NORTENO,” tattooed around his neck, made the question rhetorical. Norteño was a street gang affiliated with the
Nuestra Familia,
a violent prison gang reaching beyond the boundaries of Folsom's penitentiary walls.

He answered with a sneer in his voice. “Boobs don't ask no questions.”

She dropped the smile. “That sounds like something a prick would say.”

He scowled. “Boobs the name a the man what owns this place.”

She had to think about that for a minute. “My bad.
Lo . . . siento.”

He leaned toward her to get into her face. “You my
chola,
I jack you up some.”

Bai took offense at the implication a beating might make her more respectful. Moreover, she thought it highly unlikely. Smiling tightly and twitching her head, she replied, “I can see where beating a woman is the only way you'd get her respect.”

“What you tryin' to say,
bruja?”

“I'm not
tryin'
to say anything. I'm telling you the only thing hitting a woman proves is you're an asshole, which you've already admirably demonstrated. Thank you very much.”

His face contorted into a mask of anger as his arm swung back. “You asked for it, bitch!”

She rolled forward onto the balls of her feet and brought her hands up to fend off a blow. A hand from behind locked onto the banger's arm to pull him off balance and spin him around, putting his back to Bai.

“I see you've made Rafael's acquaintance,” Lee said, releasing the arm.

“The name is Rafe,” the banger snarled.

Standing two inches apart, the men glared at one another.

Bai filled the silence. “Rafe was just charming me with his witty banter.”

Rafe didn't take his eyes off Lee. “This ain't none a your business.”

“Sadly, untrue,” Lee said with a smile. “Think about it, Rafe. If you hit this woman, you're an asshole. If you fight her and lose, you're still an asshole. Come to think of it, no matter what you do, you're an asshole. And now, I've completely forgotten what it was I was trying to say.”

Rafe took a swing at Lee. His arm muscles bulged as his fist came around like a sledge hammer. If the banger had chanced to come anywhere near landing a blow, Bai might have shown concern. He swiped at air while Lee easily slipped under his punch and moved to the side while landing a flurry of blows to Rafe's kidneys.

Rafe went down on one knee then stumbled up again. His eyes glistened with pain. He wasn't the brightest guy in the world, but he was smart enough to take a step back and reassess the situation. “She your chola?” he asked in a taut voice. “She looks butch to me. I can't see you doin' her.”

“I like 'em butch,” Lee replied with a sly grin. “What can I say?”

Rafe pondered Lee's words as he took another step back. His arms dropped and his shoulders hunched as if he might go another round. He stared menacingly at Lee then turned his attention back to Bai and raised an index finger to point the digit at her, like a gun. His thumb dropped the hammer as he backed away. “Some other time, bitch, when your boyfriend ain't around.”

She turned to Lee as Rafe walked away. “I was right the first time. He is a prick.”

Lee watched Rafe's back. “And a dangerous one. Be careful of him.”

“What's his problem?”

Lee shrugged. “He's a psychopath, an enforcer for the Norteños. For the line of work he's in, being deranged doesn't seem to be a detriment.”

“Lovely.”

He changed the subject. “What did you find out at Sun Yee On?”

“I'm convinced Kelly wouldn't recognize the truth if it sat on his face,” she said acidly. “I've learned the drug transaction wasn't a bust but an exchange. The Norteños were buying back a shipment of Mexican Brown, which the task force had hijacked. The swap went south—pun intended. Get it? Norteños—south?”

Lee ignored her attempt at humor. “So there was no China White?”

“No. That's why I tried, unsuccessfully, to strike up a conversation with Rafe. Since he's Norteño, I thought he might know something.”

“He wouldn't give you the time of day, let alone divulge gang business. But it's interesting . . .” He paused in thought. “Kelly's lies contain a certain amount of logic. We wouldn't have any reason to help him recover stolen drugs or payola. So he feeds us a line about cops dying in the line of duty to motivate us. I'm still left wondering why Kelly came to us.”

“I think Kelly's playing us.”

“You may be right. Anyway, let's go upstairs. There's someone I want you to meet.”

At the rear of the gym, stairs made from round pipe rails and diamond-pressed steel led to a second-story landing.

Preceding Bai, Lee turned his head to say, “This used to be a warehouse. About thirty years ago, Boobs converted the place to a gym. It's been dying a slow death the last few years. Health clubs have taken over most of the fitness trade. The people who work out here are a different breed—modern-day gladiators.”

“With Rafe as the welcoming committee, I can understand why business might be slow.”

“Your encounter with Rafe was probably his idea of romance. He's still at that awkward age where he slaps a girl to get her attention.”

“Gives ‘hitting on a woman' a whole new meaning.”

At the top of the stairs, Lee pushed open a steel door to usher her into an enclosed loft space. She stepped into an office appearing to double as an apartment. A folding Murphy bed stood up against the opposite wall. A couch and coffee table occupied the center of the room facing a flat screen attached to the wall adjacent to the door. Overlooking the gym below, a three-foot square of plate glass filled the space next to the door where she stood.

A very big man with black verging on blue skin sat behind a desk at the far end of the room. From the graying at his temples and the fine lines around his eyes, he looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He had arms like bands of steel and shoulders like piled river rock. As he openly studied her with intelligent brown eyes, his lips pulled up into a smile revealing brilliant white teeth.

“The name's Jefferson Boob, but everybody just calls me Boobs,” he said, extending his hand over his desk as he got up from his chair.

She stepped across the room to take his hand and felt the strength in his gentle grip. “Very nice to meet you . . . Boobs.”

“The pleasure's all mine,” he said, ushering them to sit in a pair of wooden chairs facing his desk. As he reclaimed his seat, he added, “Lee tells me you're looking for Daniel.”

“Did he tell you why we're looking for him?”

“Yes. I'm sorry to say I don't have an address for him. I haven't seen him for a while.”

She nodded in understanding. “How well do you know him?”

He glanced at Lee before answering. “I'm not sure how much Lee has told you about me or about this gym. As a matter of practicality, anybody walking through the door to my establishment leaves his business behind on the street. That's the only way I can operate. I have fighters coming in here who are Crips and Bloods from Hunter's Point, Norteños and Sureños from the neighborhood, and Santa Maria's and Joe Boys from Oakland. This place would be a war zone if I let that gang crap come in here. The only thing I need to know about a fighter is whether or not he can fight. That's the only thing I ask about.”

“Could Daniel Chen fight?” Lee asked.

Boobs shook his head and looked at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. When he dropped his gaze, he said, “He reminded me of you, Lee. Elegant. I get a lot of brawlers in here, fellas who like to take out their frustration in the ring, but that wasn't Daniel. When he fights, he's like poetry in motion—smooth, precise, and fierce. I don't know where he learned to fight, but he's had training. A lotta training.”

“It sounds as if you like him,” Bai said.

“I do like him. He's a good man, polite and well-read. Smart. Smarter than me by a long shot.”

“We were led to believe he's an immigrant. What you're saying doesn't jibe with what we've been told,” she explained.

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “You've been talking to that fat cop, haven't you?”

She nodded. “As a matter of fact, we have.”

“He came in here demanding to know everything I knew about Daniel. So I did what I always do when a cop demands answers. I made up a bunch of crap and fed it to him.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about Daniel Chen that isn't a load of crap?” she asked.

As he looked at her, his smile slowly drifted away. His gaze met hers in steady evaluation, as if he might be thinking about what, if anything, to tell her. She waited patiently.

“I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character,” he said, “but I've been known to be wrong.”

“Haven't we all?” she said sympathetically. “I've got a teenager at home to prove it.”

He smiled and took a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. “Have a look in Berkeley.”

“The town?” Lee asked.

“The school.”

His response surprised her. “He's a student?”

Boobs laughed and shook his head. “Try teacher.”

Chapter 4

Lee hailed a yellow cab on Bryant Street to take them home. The asphalt streets glistened with a shiny, black wetness as street lamps equipped with modern light sensors blinked on to glow like haloed beacons. A heavy mist hovered overhead in a gray drizzle as dusk settled over the city.

By the time the cab dropped them in the heart of Chinatown, fog had enveloped the streets. Lee held the glass entry door open as Bai walked into her small lobby. The vestibule showed a mix of old and new. Shiny brass doors on the new elevator stood on the right. A white steel door on the left led to Lee's apartment, and a row of older brass mailboxes lined the far wall. White marble on the floor showed a gray patina of age.

She'd renovated the old manse, turning the top floor into a luxury apartment and the second into a private gymnasium. The ground floor housed the old lobby, a four-car garage accessible from the rear alley, and the smaller apartment where Lee resided. The only features of the building she'd left in place were the plain brick facade and the modest lobby, giving no indication of the luxurious accommodations within.

Lee put his finger to the biometric lock on his door while Bai pressed her thumb against a similar sensor on the elevator call panel. She turned to glance at his back while waiting for the elevator to descend. “Are you busy tonight?”

He turned to look at her. “Not really. Do you want to go out?”

“I already have a dinner date. I was wondering if you could cover for me and spend some time with Elizabeth and the girls.”

His eyebrows lifted in question. “Why would I need to cover for you?”

“I'm having dinner with Jason.”

The admission gave him pause. “I'll cover for you on one condition.”

“What is it with men and conditions? Does every little thing have to be bartered? What happened to doing a friend a favor?”

“Never mind, then,” he replied dismissively as he turned his back on her.

“Wait!” she said hurriedly. “Let's hear the condition.”

He turned around slowly and leaned his back against his apartment door to fix her with his gaze. “You tell Jason what we're working on.”

“Why?”

“Because nothing's adding up and this business with Chen has me worried. What's a Berkeley professor doing at a drug buy? Why does Kelly want our help? I have this tingling sensation,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “like someone has us in their crosshairs.”

“It could be a false alarm. The last time you tingled it was over an Olympic swimmer from Spain.”

“This isn't the same thing.”

She looked at him with a frown and let out a long, despairing sigh.

“What now?” he asked.

“I just had one of those enlightening moments: both of my best friends are men, and they're both prettier than I am.”