White Tiger (5 page)

“Not much. We need to hurry. I’ve paid for the tickets, but we still need to get them.”

“Let’s go,” Chen Gui said, and he began striding toward the elevators. They were painted with yellow flowers. Chen Song shuffled after him, casting a baleful glance at Manning. Manning kept his expression blank.

Next time you won’t be so lucky, sonny-boy.

###

Manning handed the E-tickets to Chen Gui and pointed out the gate information to him. Chen Gui nodded and handed Chen Song his ticket, which he accepted sullenly.

“You should go now,” Manning said. “You’ll need to hurry
—
your flight’s boarding in less than fifteen minutes, and you still need to get through security.”

“Chen Song, go ahead. I’ll meet you at the gate,” Chen Gui said.

Chen Song looked surprised. “Uncle?”

“Do as I say! No discussion!” Chen Gui snapped.

Chen Song hesitated for a moment, then made a hissing noise through his teeth and spun on his heel. He marched toward the security checkpoint.

Chen Gui turned to Manning. His eyes, while mindful of the environment and virtually every passer-by, were no longer full of panic and fear. The old Chen Gui, Shanghai crime lord, had returned.

“
Bái Hu
, I’ll transfer your fee into your account by tomorrow morning. But I would like to know if you might be interested in another task while I’m in transit.”

“What would that be?”

“I need you to take care of my problems here in Japan. I need that done very, very quickly. Can this be done in less than twelve hours for...say, one hundred thousand dollars?”

Manning cocked a brow. One hundred thousand dollars was twice his usual “assistance” fee, which Chen Gui was obliged to pay in addition to his annual retainer.

“That could compromise my ability to assist you further here in Japan,” Manning answered. “As you know, whites stand out here quite a bit.”

“Yes, silly of me to be so miserly at a time like this
—
my ancestors would be most displeased. One hundred seventy five thousand, then. And another twenty-five thousand if it’s done before midnight.”

Manning took a deep breath. “Two hundred thousand dollars? But Chen Gui
—
you can pay your own people pennies to do this, in comparison.”

“I have no one left in Japan, and the quicker this gets done, the quicker I can make my reappearance. The Yakuza are timid, but they will fall in with the first gangster who resumes the flow of goods. You know the Taiwanese are angling for the territory, and once they know I’ve left, they’ll move in immediately...once the Fujianese snake’s head is dead.
DOngdé ma?
”

“
Shi.
But I’ve had no contact with the Fujianese—I wouldn’t know where to find them, much less their leader.”

Chen Gui reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a card. He pressed it into Manning’s hand.

“I have a special relationship with a young girl,” Chen Gui said. “She’s very young, very lovely, but plays both sides of the fence. She’s Japanese, but she runs with the Fujianese. She is also enamored of me, because as I’ve told you, we Shanghainese are quite generous. Do you know what I mean?”

“You have an
enjo kMsai
partner,” Manning replied, using the Japanese term which loosely described “assisted dating” between a young, school-aged girl and a middle-aged man. Despite the fact that it was a distasteful practice
—
it was practically underage prostitution, after all
—
Manning was nevertheless impressed that Chen Gui had managed to navigate such culturally tricky waters; most foreigners lacked the required finesse to successfully negotiate a compensated dating package with a Japanese schoolgirl.

“Yes. She is quite sweet, but requires much attention.”

“Then I can understand why you would be in a hurry to return to Tokyo.
Enjo kMsai
is one of the more valued and least understood relationships between a man and a young woman. I’m impressed that you successfully completed the arrangements.”

Chen Gui smiled tightly and clasped his hands behind his back, pleased with himself and pleased that Manning understood the skill that had been required in closing such a deal. Manning allowed the plump man his moment to gloat while he scanned the card. While it was written in hiragana, he could make it out. The telephone number was certainly understandable.

“Noguchi Chisako?” he confirmed with Chen Gui.

“
Shi.
”

“And you say she knows where the Fujianese are? And that she would give me the information? May I ask how this might be expected to work out?”

“As I said,
Bái Hu
, she requires much attention, and the Fujianese snake head is far less indulgent of her tastes than I am. And she was the one who warned me to leave Tokyo immediately, as she learned of the Fujianese gang’s movement against my nephew and myself. So you see, she is truly awaiting my return.”

“I see.” It was an odd arrangement, for sure. Manning didn’t like the smell of it, but...

“You’ll do as I ask,
Bái Hu
?”

Manning thought about it. He looked at the card again, lips pursed.

“Once I know you’re out of Japan, I’ll make the arrangements,” Manning agreed, finally. “It will happen before midnight.”

CHAPTER 3

San Francisco, California

For just a moment Hal Ryker thought the world had gone to hell in a hand basket and no one gave a damn any more, but then he saw a familiar face behind the hotel reception desk, talking to a pair of elderly Japanese. The clerk glanced at him briefly, then ignored him. Her name was...damn, he couldn’t remember, why was he so awful with names?...and she’d got her detective’s shield six months ago, he remembered the frosted donuts and the coffee salute as everyone welcomed a new gladiator to the arena. He wondered what she thought of him
—
not that it mattered anyway because they worked out of the same precinct and only an idiot crapped in his own nest. Ryker didn’t know a cop-on-cop relationship that had ever worked out to anyone’s satisfaction, most especially his own, and he sure as hell wasn’t going down that bumpy road again...even if the bogus hotel clerk did have eyes a man could drown in and legs that went all the way up to her armpits.

Chee Wei stood waiting for him by the bank of elevators, one of which lay open with a printed Out Of Service sign on the frame. Ryker nodded hello and they stepped into the elevator. The young Chinese turned a key that was already in the control panel, then thumbed a button. The doors slid shut and the elevator climbed smoothly. The distant hum of motors and cables provided a background to Chee Wei’s inevitable question: “So, did you get any over the weekend?”

“Damn right I did. Your sister dropped by,” Ryker said, not taking his gaze from the display as the numbers got higher and higher, heading for the 38th floor. “I’m going to have to buy a new bed, she busted the springs. Neighbors were banging on the ceiling all night. Hey, I’ll bring in the tape. You can show it to your folks so they know what a talented daughter they have.”

“Tell me how much a new bed costs, they’ll want to pay for it,” Chee Wei said without change of expression. “Of course, my sister’s eye operation will have to be postponed. We’ll just buy her a guide dog instead. It’s cheaper.”

“Speaking of eyes, who’s that behind the desk downstairs?”

“That would be Detective Sandra Raymond. Locker room says she likes girlie stuff, but that’s because she hasn’t had a solid date in over a month. You thinking about punching her ticket?”

“We have anyone else down there, or is she it?”

“Two plainclothes from the Bay area. Jackson, you know him, and a guy called Blacque, with a ‘q’. You walked right past them.”

“I meant aside from them.”

The corner of Chee Wei’s mouth turned up, telling Ryker his bluff hadn’t worked. Then again, he hadn’t seen Jackson since Spring last year when they’d rubbed shoulders on a double homicide. “Uh-huh. Couple of uniforms on permanent station round the corner with their radios open. We whistle, they come running. That’s assuming some crazy guy with a knife shows up looking for more dicks to cut off.”

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened. Ryker nodded to the uniform waiting for them. The cop jerked a thumb over his shoulder indicating a cluster of bodies at the far end of the huge room, just in case they couldn’t find the corpse on their own. The dimensions of the place staggered Ryker. And the décor didn’t just impress him, it took his breath away. The furniture, the flooring, the rugs, the wood paneling, even the chandeliers hanging ten feet above his head each cost more than he made in a year. No, two years. The stench of wealth assaulted his nose. Just being here made him feel like some bum who’d wandered in off the street. He had an urge to take off his shoes out of respect, but that would only leave an embarrassing trail of foot-shaped sweat marks across the polished wood.

Chee Wei said, “You’re thinking, how much does this cost per night?”

Ryker shook his head. “No, I’m thinking what kind of loony-toon cuts a guy’s dick off.”

“A frustrated wife? A scorned lover?”

“See, you’ve solved the case already. Round up the usual suspects. You can start with my ex-wife, those alimony payments are crippling me.”

“Did Adrienne cut your dick off too?”

“She still keeps my balls in a glass jar beside her bed, that’s for sure.”

As Ryker and Chee Wei approached the emperor-sized bed, the small crowd dispersed to let them have a better look. Ryker recognized three forensics among the cops, one of them a Korean girl he’d only recently learned was hardcore lesbian. That thought was enough to send a man running to get a sex change. She walked to the top of the bed and took more photographs with her digital camera, the strobing flash turning the room into a disco. She had eyes for no one in the room except the naked Chinese lying on his back and decorated by a rusty film of dried blood. The forensics team leader, an Aryan crew cut named Klein, said, “We’re still trying to figure cause of death, but it looks like he was”—Klein paused momentarily for the appropriate comedic timing—“dismembered.”

Ryker understood only too well that humor at a grisly crime scene was essential. A well-timed joke could often stop a stomach from heaving and spilling its contents, adding to the disgust.
 
He found himself chuckling and welcomed the emotional release, even if it was the diametrical opposite of what he felt at that exact moment.

The other forensics guy had his toolbox-cum-chemical lab open on a table. He saw he had Ryker’s attention and said, “There’s semen trace on his stomach. Looks like he came just before his assailant cut it off. And there’s trace in his mouth, too.”

“Is the semen in his mouth his own, or someone else’s?” Ryker asked, even as his brain, paralyzed by the sight of a dead man apparently eating his own penis, told him it was too soon for results to be available.

“Samples are on their way to the lab by courier.”

“Too bad it happened last night,” Klein said. “If we’d gotten here within 30 minutes of ejaculation we could have put the two semen groups together on a slide. That would have told us whether they were exclusive.” He bent his arms at the elbows and made the motions of flapping wings, grinning all the while.

Ryker nodded; he’d seen the training film, dubbed “Cock Fighting” by the forensics fraternity. He knew the case’s history. A female student had been attacked on her way back to her dorm and raped by two men. When semen samples were examined under the microscope they were found to be very much alive
—
and fighting each other like crazy. Until then Ryker had assumed that semen had one purpose in life and one purpose only, to swim toward and fertilize the female’s egg. But, put those feisty little tadpoles in along with semen from another man and half of them would stop swimming and fight a rearguard action to prevent the egg being fertilized by the competitor.