Unsafe Harbor (21 page)

Midtown traffic was crazy by now, and I didn’t want to blow my life savings on a cab. With that in mind, I scampered down a set of stairs and into the bowels of New York.

T
he best thing about the subway system is that it’s still a bargain, compared to the rest of the city, and operates twenty-four hours a day. I didn’t have to wait long before a platinum eel of a train approached, its gleaming silver line cutting through the dark underground tunnel. I jumped on, and became one more pinball jostled about in a car full of people. In no time at all, I arrived in Chinatown.

I emerged to join a crowd that snaked along tortuous, narrow streets. The sidewalks were filled with open-air fish markets, fruit stands, and sweet shops. My nose was amply rewarded with the delicious aroma of scallion pancakes, roast duck, and fried dumplings as I made my way through the swarm.

If Yiddish is the official language of the Diamond District, then Chinatown also has its own vernacular. The only English to be heard came from Caucasians and tourists. Little did they know that behind the exotic-looking stores, Chinatown is still an area filled with gangs, protection rackets, drugs, and sweatshops.

I left Tourist Central and headed down Oliver Street, eventually reaching the address that Giancarlo had given me. Just as he’d said, I spotted a sign that read
BLACK STAR
EXPERT TAILOR SHOP.
I opened the door and entered a sparsely furnished room with clothing racks, a floor-to-ceiling mirror, and a sewing machine. A bell rang, briskly notifying the owner that a customer had arrived.

The following moment, an elderly Chinese woman appeared from behind a heavy, dark curtain. She looked to be as frail as a delicate porcelain statue, and was as pale as a ghostly new moon.

“Hello. My name is Cheri Taylor. I’m here to pick up a blue ballgown,” I told her, wondering if she knew what I was talking about.

The woman’s face remained placid as she nodded once and disappeared.

I waited, growing increasingly anxious, curious as to what was taking so long. My unease was partly due to a strange buzzing sound that I heard. It was as though a swarm of bees was hovering around me. The menacing noise reached deep inside and rattled my nerves. The old woman finally peeked from behind the curtain and motioned for me to follow.

Had Giamonte decided to permanently dispose of his problem by selling me into white slavery?
I wondered, slipping past the curtain to look down a steep flight of stairs.

Suck it up, Porter. What are you, suddenly afraid of every little thing? Don’t you remember? He told you that the ivory factory was in a basement,
I sternly reprimanded myself.

I blamed it on the fact that my body was sore, my jaw ached, and the back of my neck continued to throb. Even so, my heart began to beat wildly as my foot hit the top step.

The buzzing grew louder as a spectral cloud of dust began to rise and fill the air. The tiny white flakes invaded my eyes, nose, and mouth like gentle flurries of snow. The minute crystals tickled my lungs with each intake of breath as my stomach twisted and turned in anticipation of what I was
about to discover. There was no doubt but that each step brought me closer to a unique sort of hell. I continued my descent into the equivalent of an elephant graveyard.

Little by little, I caught sight of a row of men in front of saws that whirred and lathes that turned. And everywhere there were containers filled with ivory pieces.

Others worked by hand, plying their trade with chisels, awls, and files. They carved tusks that had been ripped from mothers, grandmothers, aunts, brothers, sisters, and babies. Fortunately, their deaths hadn’t been for naught. They now made lovely cigarette holders, chopsticks, and paperweights. Yet other elephants had been reduced to a large pile of newly carved Buddhas.

There was even a special table dedicated solely to the making of
hankos
, or “chops,” personal finger-size signature seals used on financial contracts and other official Japanese documents. Their popularity and status had elevated them to must-haves.

So this was why the elephants were being indiscriminately slaughtered: for knickknacks and curios in what amounted to a sickening display of man’s vanity. I thought of all the animals that had been mowed down. It almost made me ashamed to be human.

But I had little time to dwell on such thoughts as someone began to approach. I found myself facing a Chinese gentleman who could have been anywhere from his mid-fifties to seventy-five years old. He was impeccably dressed in a tan tailor-made suit. The choice of color was wise. A shower of white clung like dandruff to everyone’s clothes.

My contact moved with a sense of grace that was surprising, almost as if he floated on air. But there was an undercurrent of power in his walk, as well. My gaze was drawn to a
face as smooth as an ivory billiard ball, and trackmarks left by a comb in a slick of dark hair.

“Miss Taylor, welcome to my factory,” he said, displaying two shiny gold teeth, and shook my hand formally.

I instantly knew that dealing with the man would be akin to sticking one’s arm in a tiger’s cage just to see what might happen. At the same time, he couldn’t have been any more courteous.

“May I offer you some tea?” he politely inquired.

“Thank you. That would be lovely,” I replied.

The old woman silently poured me a cup.

I took a deep whiff. It was the intoxicatingly sweet scent of jasmine.

“This is wonderful,” I said, after taking a sip.

“I’m glad you like. You’ll notice a hint of orchid in there, as well. I have it specially made in Hong Kong,” he remarked.

The man was so proper, I found it hard to believe that he had yet to introduce himself.

“I’m afraid you have an advantage over me that needs to be rectified,” I mildly pointed out.

My host raised a questioning eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

“You haven’t yet told me your name,” I informed him.

He shook his head, chuckled, and gave a small shrug. “How thoughtless. Please forgive me. I’m an old man and my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

I nodded sympathetically, but somehow doubted that.

“My name is George Leung,” he pleasantly revealed.

It was as if a nuclear bomb had gone off, causing my legs to tremble and the porcelain cup to shake slightly in my hand. Standing before me was a living legend—the Godfather of the illegal wildlife trade, himself.

Leung was notorious as the main mover and shaker of ivory. His front company, Africa Hydraulics, had been responsible for smuggling vast amounts out of Africa during the bloody eighties. He had led the charge that decimated elephant populations and helped to place them on the Endangered Species list.

But my connection to the man was far more ominous and personal than that. His son had been the sharkfin dealer that Vinnie Bertucci and I had been forced to kill in Hawaii.

Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead, although the room was cold, and I knew that he was watching me closely. If I didn’t play this right, I might not make it out of there alive. Or, perhaps my fate had already been decided, and Leung was simply toying with me.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, doing my best to appear composed.

But he surely must have noticed that my heart was pounding so hard that it was about to burst out of my body. And there was no stopping the train of thoughts that continued to speed through my mind.

Giamonte had said ivory was being shipped out of South Africa. It was common knowledge that Leung had been based there for decades. So why hadn’t I made the connection before? After all, I’d heard about the man ever since my days as a rookie agent in New Orleans. He’d been the nemesis of my former boss, Charlie Hickok; his personal Moby Dick that had gotten away.

Charlie had claimed that Leung’s protection came from high-level South-African sources. He’d endeared himself during apartheid, when sanctions against the country were imposed. Leung had helped out by importing much-needed electronics and computers from China and Japan.

There was no question that he had plenty of money with
which to grease the right wheels. Besides ivory, Leung had a hand in everything from restaurants to a Mercedes dealership, Chinese medicinals, and sharkfin, as well as maintaining luxury homes in Johannesburg and Hong Kong. Then there were his “front” companies—dealing in timber, copper scrap, and auto parts—that were used as covers for smuggling.

“Allow me to give you a tour of our humble facility. As you know, we only recently opened shop. But we hope to soon be up and running to full capacity,” Leung said, using the all-encompassing term “we.”

I wondered if others were involved in this venture that I didn’t yet know about.

“And what would that be?” I questioned.

Leung tilted his head, as though he didn’t quite understand.

“What do you consider to be full capacity?” I clarified.

“Ah. Let me explain,” Leung said.

We walked over to where a man carefully chiseled an ornate ivory egg by hand.

“In the past, a worker might spend up to a year carving a single tusk, depending on the intricacy of the project. However, with the advent of electric tools, eight people can now produce enough jewelry and figurines to consume the tusks of three hundred elephants in just one week. It’s a marvel of modern industry, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked amiably.

I gave a small nod in concession, but shuddered at the thought of all that collective wisdom being ground into dust.

“What are those?” I inquired, pointing to two large vats, ready to move on to another topic.

“I like to think of it as magic, but it’s our antiquing method,” Leung replied, sounding pleased that I had asked.

I’d always been curious as to the process. It was a clever ploy by which illegal ivory was sometimes brought into the
country. The law declared that only ivory obtained before the 1990 ban could legitimately be bought and sold. Therefore, making ivory appear to be old was a common trick of the trade.

“Here. Let me show you how it’s done,” Leung congenially offered.

He led me to a pot of boiling liquid as dark and murky as the water surrounding the seaport; the scent so acrid that it nearly jumped up and bit my nose.

“What you see here is a mixture of coffee, tea, and tobacco leaves. Pieces of ivory are boiled in this concoction for two hours before they are carved,” he explained. “The second vat is reserved for items that have already been sculpted. Those carvings are soaked in a cool form of this same liquid for nearly two weeks. After that, you have a lovely piece of antique-looking ivory such as this one.”

Leung pointed to an elegant swan, so beautifully carved that every single feather was a work of art. Even I had to admit just how exquisite it was.

I was caught off guard as Leung abruptly turned and stared at me.

“By the way, why was Mr. Giamonte unable to make our meeting today? You’re a welcome replacement, but it strikes me as rather odd. Especially since he repeatedly called Hong Kong and insisted on seeing the facility,” Leung pressed.

I took a deep breath and immediately became queasy. I couldn’t be certain if it was the bitter smell of solution and all the dust, but it was as though I were surrounded by death.

“Mr. Giamonte is terribly sorry and sends his regrets. However, there was an unforeseen emergency. That’s why he asked me to come in his stead. He didn’t want to let the opportunity slip by,” I replied, hoping the excuse would pass muster.

Leung lowered his chin, grunted, and seemed to accept
the explanation. Then he raised his head and I caught sight of something cold and hard in his eyes. Whatever it was scared the hell out of me—so much that my hands grew clammy and my stomach tightened another notch. Once again, I couldn’t help but wonder if Leung had an inkling as to who I actually was.

Snap out of it. You’re falling prey to your own paranoia,
I harshly scolded myself.

But there was no shaking the feeling that I was caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

“Mr. Giamonte also asked that I order a large quantity of figurines,” I said, knowing a trap had to be laid if I hoped to catch Leung bringing ivory into the country.

“How odd considering that he already placed a sizeable one only this morning,” Leung stiffly responded.

Damn. I hadn’t counted on that.

“We must have gotten our wires crossed,” I tried to casually slough it off.

But Leung refused to let the incident go.

“How can you be his assistant and yet have no idea as to what is going on?” he brusquely questioned. “That doesn’t sound like very good business to me, but as if something is wrong.”

A tool clattered to the floor, fraying yet a few more of my nerves. Only I didn’t dare look around. Instead I held Leung’s gaze, hoping to convince him that I had nothing to hide.

“Mr. Giamonte has been busy with other matters of late. However, he has a number of new clients who are eager to purchase beautiful items for their homes,” I responded. “He must have decided to place the order himself instead of having me do it.”

Leung remained quiet for a moment, but it was as though he could see straight through to my soul.

“In that case, please inform him that a shipment is arriving at the port today and will be delivered to the factory tomorrow. The consignment contains many lovely artifacts that Mr. Giamonte’s customers might find of interest.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to let him know,” I replied. “Once again, I appreciate the tour. It was most informative. Now I best get back to work and not take up any more of your valuable time.”

Leung graciously smiled and gave a perfunctory nod.

I didn’t take another breath until I was up the steps, out the door, and standing on the sidewalk. Than I brushed every tiny flake of ivory off me and quickly rushed home.

A
jolt of adrenaline raced through me as I picked up the phone and promptly placed a call to Fish and Wildlife.

“Hi, Connie? It’s Rachel Porter. Listen, I just received a tip that a shipment of ivory is arriving from South Africa today. Is there any way we can get the container pulled and secretly inspect it?” I asked, the words rushing out on one stream of breath.

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the wire.

“I appreciate your zeal, Rachel. But that’s like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. Do you have any idea how many containers are offloaded at this port every day?” she questioned.

“A lot,” I ventured.

“Roughly about six thousand of them. That makes trying to locate your shipment nearly impossible. Especially if it’s already been electronically cleared,” she explained

“Please, Connie. You don’t realize who I’ve got in my sights. I just came from a meeting with the head honcho of the illegal ivory trade,” I revealed.

“How did you manage that?” she asked in surprise.

“He thinks that I work for one of his clients, which makes this the opportune time to nab him. Believe me, this guy
won’t be happy until the very last elephant has been killed so that he can jack up the price of ivory. Isn’t there some way we can find this container?” I continued to beg.

“Not without Customs’ assistance,” Connie informed me.

My heart began to sink.

“Although I
do
have a friend there that might be willing to help us,” she slyly added.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” I gushed, beginning to feel absolutely ecstatic.

“Hold on. He’ll need the name of the company in order to run it through their system,” she told me.

“No problem. The name is Tat Hwong Products,” I cheerfully complied.

“And of course he’ll also want the container number,” Connie said.

Oh hell.

“I don’t have it,” I grudgingly admitted.

“Hmm. That’s going to make tracking this shipment a whole lot more difficult,” she disclosed. “It could take a while.”

“Terrific. Time is exactly what we haven’t got,” I groaned.

“Well, all we can do is give it a shot and see what happens. Look on the bright side. This certainly won’t be the last time that your friend brings in ivory,” she said in an attempt to cheer me up.

“Actually that’s the dark side, Connie. I want to nail this bastard now while we have the chance. Who knows when I’ll get this kind of opportunity again,” I responded in frustration. “By the way, don’t mention any of this to Hogan.”

“The big boss man? Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it. That would spoil all the fun. For once, I might actually get to do my job. I’ll give you a ring as soon as I hear anything,” she assured me, and hung up.

I immediately began to pace the apartment, search the shelves for cookies, and drum my fingers on the kitchen table. Patience has never been my strong suit. I’d lose my mind if I had to sit and wait much longer. Then I remembered, there was someone else I needed to call.

“Vincent Bertucci. You cast me and I shoot ’em. Bam, bam!” Vinnie answered his line.

“Hi. It’s Rachel,” I replied, still trying to adjust to the idea of Vinnie being an actor.

“So, how do you like my phone greeting? Pretty catchy, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s definitely unique,” I responded. “I’m just calling to see if you found out anything else for me about Magda.”

“Who was that again?” he questioned.

Terrific. I just hoped that Vinnie was better at remembering his lines.

“You know. The woman who died when her luncheonette truck was torched,” I patiently reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah. Now I remember. Sure, I asked around, but none of the guys were involved in that hit,” he revealed. “In fact, they were pretty pissed about it. They really liked the broad’s pierogis and kielbasa.”

“I’m sure she would have been pleased,” I said, having suspected all along that my boss, Jack Hogan was wrong.

I had no doubt but that Magda’s death was somehow connected to Bitsy von Falken, shahtoosh shawls, and now, possibly, ivory.

“Listen, there’s something else I need to ask you,” I began, knowing there was no way to tiptoe around the next topic.

“If you’re thinking of trying to get back into acting, you should fugedaboudit. I can’t help you there. In fact, my
agent says that broads over thirty-five stand a better chance of finding a patsy to marry than breaking into show business,” Vinnie said in his own gentle manner.

“No, that’s not it. I’m curious as to how you knew more than one person was involved in Bitsy von Falken’s death?” I inquired, referring to our former conversation in Little Italy.

The question was followed by an awkward pause.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Vinnie finally responded.

“I mentioned that Magda saw Bitsy’s body being dumped and you asked if she got a good look at any of the faces. Don’t you remember? What made you think that more than one person took part in the hit?” I asked again, hoping that Vinnie wasn’t somehow linked.

“Just an educated guess. Idiots usually travel in pairs,” Vinnie smoothly responded.

“And why were they idiots?” I questioned.

“Cause otherwise they’d have checked out that luncheonette truck before dumping the body,” he said darkly.

I wondered if Vinnie knew this from experience.

“Listen, I gotta go. I’m shooting a scene later this week with Bobby DeNiro. It’s only a few lines, but I wanna get it right. Talk to you later,” he said, and hung up.

I was left with an uneasy feeling of what Vinnie might possibly know and not be telling me. I dealt with it the best way I could—by polishing off a bag of Oreos. When the phone finally rang, it was Connie with news that I didn’t want to hear.

“Sorry, but nothing came up under Tat Hwong Products. That’s why it’s so important to have the container number. It’s the best way to find a shipment. Are you sure that you’ve got the name right?” she asked.

“Yes,” I muttered half to myself, knowing this could be the only chance I’d ever have to catch George Leung.

I couldn’t let him slip through my fingers. Not when I was so close to nabbing him. There had to be something else I’d overlooked. I thought of Charlie Hickok and wondered what he’d do. That helped trigger a hunch.

“Have your friend punch in a company called Africa Hydraulics,” I excitedly urged.

“Okay. But he won’t be able to help us much after that,” Connie said.

“Just do it,” I implored, feeling as though I were betting my last dollar on a lottery ticket.

I anxiously waited as Connie put me on hold. I’d never forgive myself if Leung got away. One more minute of this and my head would explode.

“That’s it!” Connie reported back triumphantly. “The container’s been offloaded at Starr Terminal, and its contents are listed as auto parts.”

“Terrific. How would you like to help me uncover a shipment of ivory?” I asked, knowing it would probably be the most fun that she’d had in years.

“I’d love to. There’s just one teensy problem. The container is already stacked with others on the dock. We’ll have to find a longshoreman who’s willing to pull it for us and break the security seal,” she revealed. “That won’t be easy. The shipment’s already been electronically released by Customs, and you know how those longys can be. They’re not about to do us Feds any unnecessary favors. They might even have been paid off to make sure no one touches it.”

What I knew for certain was that organized crime tightly controlled both the local longshoreman’s union and companies doing business at the port.

Now, who do I know with connections to the Mob?
I mused, already aware of the perfect person.

“I might just be able to solve this problem. Give me a cou
ple of minutes and I’ll call you right back,” I mysteriously replied.

Then I quickly placed another call to Vinnie.

“Vincent Bertucci. You cast me and I shoot ’em. Bam, bam.”

I wondered when he would finally get tired of saying that.

“It’s me again,” I said.

“What’s up? I’m tryin’ to memorize my lines and all these calls are breakin’ my concentration. Whaddaya, suddenly got the hots for me or something?” he questioned.

“I need a simple favor,” I replied.

“Ain’t no such thing in this life. Don’t you know that by now, New Yawk?” he responded.

“I guess I’m a little slow in that department. But since you’re already on the phone, why don’t we give it a try?” I persisted. “I want to have a container opened at the port so that I can inspect its contents.”

“Yeah. And what’s that got to do with me?” Vinnie questioned.

“The container was electronically cleared before landing. That means it’s already stacked up with a bunch of others at Starr Terminal. I’ll need a longshoreman to pull it from the stack and break the security seal for me. And you know how sticky those union rules can be,” I responded.

“You’re talking about one of those big forty-foot mothers?” Vinnie questioned.

“Yes,” I replied. “The thing is, it has to be done on the QT. There’s something else you should know. The shipment belongs to George Leung. I posed undercover and met with him this afternoon.”

“Holy shit. You gotta be kidding me,” Vinnie said in a hushed tone. “Are you talking about the Chinese Godfather? Michael Leung’s old man?”

“The one and only,” I verified.

“For chrissakes! Whaddaya out of your mind?” Vinnie exploded. “Did the old man have any idea who you were?”

“Of course not,” I said, though I couldn’t be certain.

“Unbelievable, New Yawk. I can always count on you to shake things up,” he retorted with a snort.

“This is important, Vinnie. I really need to stop this guy. You know damn well that Leung’s bad news,” I replied, trying to drive my point home.

“Like father, like son, I suppose,” Vinnie responded. “When do you want this done?”

“It has to be today. The shipment is being picked up tomorrow morning,” I reported.

Vinnie seemed to think about it for a moment. “Okay. I can probably pull a few strings and help you out with the longys. But it’ll have to be after hours, and no way in hell are you going by yourself to the docks tonight.”

“That’s no problem. I’ve already arranged to have someone accompany me,” I informed him.

“Yeah? Who’s that? The Ragin’ Cajun?”

“No,” I answered a little too sharply.

“What’s the matter? Trouble on the home front?” he asked.

“It’s just that I’d rather Santou didn’t know about this. I don’t want to worry him,” I lied.

“If he doesn’t like to worry, he’s with the wrong chick. So, who’s the chump that’s going with you then?” Bertucci persisted.

“A wildlife inspector,” I said, hoping that would satisfy him.

“And what’s the guy’s name?” Vinnie continued to quiz.

“Connie Fuca,” I responded, figuring her first name could swing either way.

“Connie? Is that like in Constance or Constantine?” Vinnie demanded.

“All right, Vinnie. You got me. Connie is a female inspector. I’m going with a woman. Okay?” I finally admitted, tired of playing the game.

“Another broad? What a relief. Now I can relax, knowing you’ll be well protected,” Vinnie derisively retorted. “Listen up, New Yawk. It ain’t gonna happen. Not unless she’s six foot three, is built like a refrigerator, and has hair on her chest. Other than that, I’m coming with you.”

Sometimes I wondered if Vinnie was my guardian angel or a three-hundred pound albatross. Part of me also couldn’t help but wonder if this might not somehow be a setup. For all I knew, Vinnie had been involved in Bitsy von Falken’s murder. Still, I’d had no choice but to trust him in Hawaii, and he’d finally come through—though it had been touch and go for a while.

“Listen, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” I tried to persuade him.

But Vinnie wasn’t buying it.

“That’s the deal if you want my help, New Yawk. Take it or leave it. But I’m not gonna have this crap on my conscience,” he said, laying down the law.

There wasn’t a shot in hell that a longshoreman would cooperate with me out of the goodness of his heart. I needed Vinnie’s muscle and Mob connections, if I was going to see this thing through.

“Fine. You can come along,” I conceded.

“Oh boy. Lucky me,” Vinnie said, as though he were insulted. “All right, here’s how it’s gonna play. We’ll have to go late when there aren’t too many people around. I’ll pick you up at your place around ten o’clock tonight.”

“Okay. See you then,” I agreed, hoping that Santou wouldn’t be home.

Rather than take a chance, I decided to call up and find out.

“Hey, chere. What’s going on?” Jake asked, sounding distracted as he answered the phone.

“Have I caught you at a bad time?” I questioned.

“When isn’t it bad these days? Things are a little crazy here right now,” he admitted.

“Does that mean I shouldn’t expect you home for dinner tonight?” I asked, hoping for once his schedule would work in my favor.

“With the way things are going, you’ll be lucky to see me for breakfast,” Santou said. “What say we make up for it over the weekend? With any luck, maybe things will break and I’ll get some time off.”

“Okay. But I’ll miss you,” I said, relieved that the coast would be clear.

That was it. I was now going to hell for all of my lies.

“Just keep those fuzzy handcuffs close by,” he added with a low growl.

“You’ve got a deal,” I replied, and felt myself begin to blush.

That done, I quickly phoned Connie.

“Okay. Everything’s taken care of. Let’s meet in the Fish and Wildlife parking lot about ten thirty tonight,” I told her.

“Wow. I’m impressed. What, do you know someone with the Mob or something?” she inquired with a laugh.

“I suppose you could say that,” I replied.

“Really?” she asked curiously.

“Well, he used to be. But these days he’s an actor.”

Who knew? Maybe with the right case, and a little luck, even
I
would manage to get a movie deal one of these days.

“By the way, he’ll be coming with us tonight,” I added, almost as an afterthought.