Live Bait (16 page)

He didn't know, of course. Chances were that if the boy was illegal he was living beneath our feet on a cot among the supplies in the cellar, but this guy would never admit it.

I nodded, dropped money on the table for the untouched beer and stood up. The boss nodded and smiled some more but I didn't leave. Instead I walked over to the big double doors leading out to the kitchen. There was a glass panel in each one so the waiters could see who was coming the other way. I glanced through. Inside was the standard steaming monochromatic room, white walls and stainless steel tables and the big black stove top hot enough to turn water to instant steam as the cook cleaned it.

There were four men there in addition to the cook. They were younger, fit, talking together at a table in the back. Two of them had tea, one had a bottle of Coke.

The boss called something but I ignored him, opening the door and taking four strides towards the table before speaking directly at the one with the Coke. "Wing Lok," I said. "Remember me?"

He spun around and dropped into a kung fu crouch. The others backed off, startled. The show of violence surprised them, almost as much as it worried me because I knew what he could do. In that first instant of recognition I felt like the dog who caught the car. This wasn't what I had planned. I'd wanted to find Su's brother, not go up against a guy who had already bested me once. If I had recognized him earlier I would have called the police. The only way to take him out was to shoot him.

He had recognized me, too. As I watched, the confidence grew in his eyes. I was a pathetic Lofan, big and clumsy, the typical "backwards-man" that hostile Chinese people find so offensive and ridiculous. He was going to put me away, for keeps. And he could do it. I kept our eyes locked, waiting for the first flicker that would warn me he was coming. Out of the edge of my vision I noted that he had his hands clawed. He was a tiger style fighter and he could kill me with one hand if he chose to.

Slowly he advanced, along the edge of the long stove. The cook said something to him, but backed away, terrified. There was now nothing between us, no place for me to hide. The stove was on my right, a long counter top on my left. Instinctively I reached out, not looking, and picked up the first thing that came to hand. I heard it gurgle and flashed it a microsecond's worth of attention. It was a can of peanut oil, wide open at the top for easy pouring.

In the same second his crouch tightened and he began his stalking move towards me. Without waiting I hurled the oil at him, not in his face but in an arc that leaped from him to the stove. It erupted in flame and as he flinched I stepped in and kicked him. I didn't go for the groin. A trained man might have his testicles retracted safely into his abdomen, instead I hit him solidly in the only place that would stop him, under the knee cap.

He collapsed, blazing and screaming, holding both hands on his broken leg. The other men were all yelling. I looked around and found the fire extinguisher and played it, first on him, then the stove, then the walls. Then I upended it and hit him firmly on the collarbone with the canister.

I find Chinese ugly to listen to, and with five men screaming at once, the kitchen was bedlam. But they all stayed back, doing their best to keep furniture between themselves and me. I was afraid one of them would go for the meat cleaver, but nobody did. They were all law-abiding. I nodded to the cook and said, "Police. This man is wanted."

There was a phone on the wall and I punched 911 and told the dispatcher to get a police car over right away. I gave her my full pedigree, Reid Bennett, police chief Murphy's Harbour. It would cut down some of the dumb questions I'd be facing when the uniformed guys got here.

The divisional headquarters is about three hundred yards up the street and there were two cars at the door in thirty seconds. The uniformed men were first, then the detectives who had been in their office when my call came in.

The bluecoats were young and keen and anxious to make a name for themselves. I just flashed my Murphy's Harbour badge and told them I wanted the detectives. They came pounding in a moment later. I explained all that was necessary. "This man is wanted on suspicion of the homicide last night, Tony Caporetto. Please keep a close watch on him, he's a kung fu expert and can be dangerous. And notify homicide; they're looking for him."

Detectives never trust anybody's account of anything. These two were professionally cynical about what I'd been doing. One recognized me from my stint on the force but the other one was more excitable. I could see he was ready to investigate the whole case from scratch. I told him, "Later. First off, get this kid to hospital. I think his leg is broken."

"Did you do that?" he fussed. "That's wounding, I guess you know that."

"I'm not going anywhere, we can discuss this later," I told him.

"Please do as I ask or else the supersnoopers are going to get very annoyed with you."

He opened his mouth to argue but the first one took over. "Sure thing, Chief. Do I need the cuffs on this guy?"

"Just watch him, he's seen too many of those chop suey movies."

Behind him, the boss was coming into the kitchen. He looked anxious; I guess he was wondering how I'd known he was lying about Wing Lok's not being there. I decided it was time to make myself a friend. "Thank you for your help, Mr. . . ." I let it dangle and he supplied the name eagerly, "Lee." I nodded and turned back to the detectives, gravely. "Mr. Lee has been very helpful," I told them.

The younger one surprised me. He stood up and shook Lee's hand as if this were some kind of award ceremony. "Thank you," he said politely. "We appreciate the help."

Lee was formal. "Any time, off'cer. Everybody should be good citizen."

I watched the whole charade carefully. It looked to me as if the police knew Lee. He was a wheel in Chinatown, somebody to treat with special respect. That was fine. But it didn't jibe with the fact that he employed grifters like Wing Lok. I wondered if they realized that, but I kept my questions to myself. At best they would make me look antisocial, and I didn't need policemen peggoing me for a Neanderthal. So I said nothing and went with them to where my car was parked.

I'll follow you to the hospital. Call homicide on the radio and tell them I'll be in emergency with this guy."

"Sure thing," the helpful one said, and this time his partner added a respectful, "Right, Chief."

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

 

T
he homicide detectives took an hour to reach the hospital. In the meantime Wing Lok had been treated for a broken tibia and collarbone and was not likely to harm anybody new for a couple of months. I had also been treated to a torrent of verbal abuse from a large Jamaican nurse who had called the department to protest my brutality. On the face of it she was right, a six-foot-one storm trooper beating a defenseless little man. But she hadn't seen Lok kicking that coffee table out of my hands and knocking me colder than mutton with a casual backhand.

The supersnoopers looked in on him first, telling the uniformed man not to leave the room until relieved by another policeman, and then came to find me. There is nowhere private to chat in Emergency at Toronto General, casualties are coming and going all day and night. So they asked the sister if they could speak to me in the chapel. I guess she was a good Catholic, she gave permission as long as nobody used any bad language.

We sat down in two of the pews, the detectives behind me so that I had to turn to speak to them. They were both bushed. Cooper kept yawning. Homicide wears out policemen faster than any other duty.

"So what happened?" Hooper asked me. I told them, starting with my arrival at the Palace Gates.

"Like, you just happened to fancy some chow mein and picked the place where this guy works. Right?" Cooper said.

"I heard that he was a buddy of the guy who hit my house last night." This was the piece of information I had not wanted to part with, but there was no way around it.

"And who gave you the information?" Hooper asked. It seemed they slipped in and out of one another's line of thought as smoothly as a man and wife, there was never a duplication, never a pause.

"The kid himself. I was at court this morning and he was sprung on two grand bail."

"Yeah? Who sprung him?"

"A girl who works at a big law office down town. She's the secretary for a guy called Cy Straight. A lawyer."

"And she waltzed down there with two grand, just like that?" Hooper let his eyebrows climb towards his thinning hairline.

"I guess. She had him out of there in two minutes."

"And you went over to him and said, 'Hi kid, no hard feelings about last night,' right?"

"Something like that."

Cooper choked off a yawn and said, "How come he understood what you were saying. Did he learn English since one a.m.?"

"The girl who came for him was Chinese. She interpreted for me."

"Kind of obliging, wasn't it?" Hooper was looking at me the way I've looked at a lot of suspects with a lot of shaky stories. I shrugged. "How else would I have ended up finding this guy?"

"Beats the hell outa me," Cooper said, then covered his mouth like a boy caught swearing. "Ooops, sorry, sister."

Hooper laughed, the genuine enjoyment of a partner's sense of humor, one of the bonuses that helps make detective work worthwhile.

He dropped the laugh and asked me, "So where was the other kid while you were putting the blocks to Bruce Lee? Didn't he try to get between you?"

"I was interrupted at the court house. He left after I'd spoken to him and the girl. I went to the Palace Gates on my own."

They bored on, taking me through all the obvious questions.

Why hadn't I called them as soon as I knew the murder suspect might be found at the Palace Gates? Why did I wait until three thirty to go over there? Why? Why? Why? All of the questions I would have asked in their place. Cooper summed it up at last.

"What it adds up to is this. You say this kid was at Caporetto's apartment last night. You say he clobbered you and took off. Now you say that a third party told you where to find him and you went over there without backup and kicked him around and brought him in."

He paused for a yawn and Hooper finished for him. "What it adds up to is you could be framing him for what you did last night. If you weren't a cop yourself we wouldn't listen to you for thirty seconds. Instead, we'd be charging you with assaulting the kid."

From the way he said it I knew they didn't intend to. It was still a test. They wanted more from me, had to have more, before they could take the case to court. But they were beginning to believe that I was telling the truth.

I shrugged. "It's what happened. I know it sounds crazy but the truth generally does. Surely you've fingerprinted the apartment. He opened the door for me, his prints are all over that inside doorknob."

"There were some unidentified prints on the doorknob, and on a lamp and a picture frame in the deceased's bedroom," Cooper said. "However, we don't know if they match the prints on young what's his name upstairs."

"They will, I'll bet you," I said triumphantly. "And, hey, while we're talking prints. Did you print that money I gave you?"

"Come on," Cooper said. "What the suffering Judas Priest are you smokin'? You know 's well's me that printing money is like tryin' to get prints off a whore's hind end."

"Very poetic," I said and we all laughed, and I relaxed a hairsbreadth, we were all policemen together. I was out from under the worst of their suspicions.

The same tough old sister looked in to tell the detectives that a gentleman was waiting to see them. They thanked her and we all trooped out, leaving her alone in the chapel. The gentleman was a small, neat Chinese, the interpreter from the courthouse. They thanked him for coming and led him away towards Wing's room, leaving me without looking back.

I guessed that meant I was free to go, so I left and walked back to my car. It was rush hour by now and University Avenue was chockful of northbound cars. I stood on the curb and envied them. They were all heading home to wives and kids and hot suppers. I was stranded, without even the leisure I would have found at Murphy's Harbour, no chance to take the canoe and try a few casts for pike along the reed beds on the point north of my house. I debated driving over to Louise's office and picking her up for a dinner out with her kids, but decided against it. My life was getting settled into its customary solitary state and that was healthier for her and the children.

I left the car parked and walked the four blocks to the Eaton Centre. It was full of people and that felt good to me. There's another English pub in the main concourse and I went in for a pint and a review of what to do next.

It seemed I had the choice of reporting back to Su and letting her know that the kid her brother ran around with was bad news, or of thinking of some new way of trying to find the string that tied the whole bundle together. I pondered how to do this over another pint and worked out that my only unfollowed lead was Bojangles at the race course. So I went down to the fast food area below and picked up a burger then reclaimed my car and headed for the track.

It was early when I got there and only the diehards were present. I didn't see Bojangles right off, so just to kill time I picked up a form sheet and picked out a couple of bets. Neither one came in. I was about to quit when I caught sight of him, betting at the ten dollar window. He didn't see me until I stepped from behind a pillar and said, "What happened to Baby Lou, Bo?"

He jumped around with a TV sized double take, put his hand on his heart and gasped. "Geez, Mr. Bennett, I bin lookin' all over for you. You won. Paid fourteen eighty."

"I hope you had a fin on it." I held out my hand and he counted out fifteen dollars from a healthy roll.

"I done more than that. I put the whole eight bucks down. Figured you had to know somebody. What're you doin t'night?"

"Tonight I'm asking questions, Bo." I said. I detached the five dollars and pushed it into the top pocket of his ratty suitcoat. "One question, anyway. Ready?"