Live Bait (24 page)

"Tell me about Willis. What void is he trying to fill?" I kept the pressure on in my voice, forcing him back to the reality of why I was there.

The thought of Willis brought a frown back to his face but he went on in a calm voice. "What has happened recently is that some Viet Namese groups have moved in. They have started extorting. Under the old, Triad deals, restaurants and gaming houses paid their money under the heading of 'protection.'" He allowed himself a smile at the thought. "Well, the Viet gangs started wrecking places that were supposed to be protected. And as a result, these places stopped paying tribute to the Triads and they lost face, lost prestige, and most important of all, lost money."

He paused, as he might have done in his summation to the jury, but I pressed him. I didn't want him taking control of the conversation. "So Willis decided to become some kind of warlord."

"More than that. He wanted to break new ground, to reach the companies which were coming into Canada from Hong Kong. He had contacts in the Crown colony so he could apply pressure back home if they gave trouble here."

"And where do you fit into all this?" I phrased the question crudely so he couldn't hide behind his legal credentials.

For a moment he looked at me, going pink in the face, then he realized I was there to stay so he explained. "I think Willis must have been involved with crime in Hong Kong. What he did was give me the names of people to contact there. I put some carefully worded suggestions to them without revealing the identity of my client."

"Did any of the people you contacted make any comments, try to bargain, or did they roll over and play dead, what?" I wanted to find how much power Willis had. It sounded as if he was some kind of WASP figurehead for Triad activity in Toronto. And yet he was cunning enough to hide himself behind Straight. Obviously he was a man with a lot of people at his command. If he decided to take me out, I would be killed, no question. I had to find him and either kill him or put him away for keeps.

"Nobody said a word in protest. I was to ask for the money to come in under the heading of insurance and they all paid, heavily. One company, opening a restaurant here, paid five thousand dollars a month. That must be close to the profit they'll make for the first few years."

"And the Heavenly Lotus corporation refused to pay?" It figured, I just wondered if he would remember that it was the outfit which owned the construction site and so far it was the only one in trouble.

"Yes." He nodded. "They sent me a letter stating that the insurance companies they have in Hong Kong could provide all the protection they needed."

I said nothing, just thinking things through and he blurted, "I had no choice. I had to do what he told me. One mistake, and he owned me."

He was going to continue but I held up my hand. "That's enough. A guy like Willis would have kept some cash for emergencies. Maybe we can get him by finding out where his deposits are and staking them out. Did you have any ideas about that?"

Straight shook his head. "He told me nothing more than what I had to know. He received money, a lot of money, but where he put it I couldn't tell you."

I stood up, grabbing the envelope of photographs spilling them into my hand. I heard him gasp but went on riffling through the shots as if they were family snapshots. I have seen too much crime to be sickened by them. I just wanted to remind him of the hold I had over him. I would never have used it, but he wouldn't believe that. His guilt was choking him.

"Okay, I need help." I put the pictures back into their envelope and tucked it under my arm, like a commuter with his morning paper.

He looked at it, hungrily. There was more than fear in his eyes.

I realized it as I watched him. He wanted his pictures back. That practiced child, a miniature woman, smaller and more frail than he was, she had made him feel invulnerable. He wasn't whipping himself for his guilt when he riffled through those pictures. He was reliving the one time his life had matched his fantasy. It was something else to use in my own struggle to solve this case. I put away the threat I had been contemplating and promised him, "You get these back when you're through helping me."

He flushed and I knew he recognized my knowledge of him. That was a start. Now he had to help.

"You must have had fallback plans with Willis. If he had you by the short hair, he wouldn't have bothered coming to your office. You must have seen him. The question is, where?"

He answered automatically. "I went to his house usually."

"But that wasn't all was it. Where else did you see him?"

He stared at me blankly. He looked catatonic. I guessed it was some kind of trick he used on witnesses in court, lulling them for a second before lashing out with the exact question that tripped them up. He spoke at last in a soft voice. "I used to meet him, by appointment, at the Palace Gates in Chinatown."

I stood up. It was coming together. Willis's enforcer worked there. It must be one of his points of contact with Chinatown. And besides, Lee was an important man. That could mean he had the clout Willis needed to get things done in Hong Kong. It wasn't likely but there was at least a possibility that Lee was in the scam with him. I shoved the telephone to Straight. "Call Lee and tell him you want to talk to Willis."

He flinched. "That would be irregular, I've never done that."

"These are highly irregular times. Get on with it."

He didn't have to look up the number. He dialled from memory and a moment later said, "Mr. Lee, this is Captain Hook. I would like to reserve a table with Dr. Smith." He looked up at me, over the phone, just as blankly as before and waited for about half a minute. Then he nodded. "I'm sorry you are so booked up. I will wait for your call."

He hung up and I put my hand on his wrist. "Now what? It sounds like you've done all that a lot of times before."

"Only as necessary." He was coming to life, still as frail, but his eyes were burning with excitement. Whatever else crime did, it certainly gave him something to live for. He looked up, a bland, self-assured lawyer's expression. "Now I wait and Mr. Lee calls back and tells me where the meeting will be."

 

 

 

Chapter 28

 

 

W
e waited for the call, me in the only comfortable chair in the room, Straight at his desk, turning the envelope of photographs over and over in his smooth little hands. At last I pretended to close my eyes and he slid the shots out and went through them slowly. There was a sensuous hiss as he rustled them and I could feel his excitement in the air like the tension that grows before a thunderstorm.

When the phone rang he sat up quickly but pushed the photos away before answering "Hello." I had my eyes fixed on his and he held up one hand in a gesture that meant "Be quiet." Finally he said, "Yes, I'll be there," and hung up.

He stood up and reached behind him for a cardigan jacket that was hanging over the back of his chair. "We have a meeting," he said. "At 1.07 P.M. That gives us thirty-two minutes."

"We'll take my car." I reached for my keys as I got to my feet.

I didn't want him driving. I wanted Sam with us, and he wouldn't fit into that metal seagull of Straight's.

"If you insist," he said fussily. "But I think we'll have to take the subway. We're meeting inside the Eaton Centre."

"Fine." The subway ran within four blocks of Louise's house. We could be down to the Eaton Centre in twelve minutes from there. I had just enough time to get Sam.

I didn't bother picking up his photographs. Blackmail is beyond me and a lawyer as shrewd as Straight could read that in my eyes. Besides, I needed his cooperation, not his fear.

I opened the car door for him, and, as he got in, I caught a whiff of some lime aftershave. It seemed pathetic on a man who could never be anybody's sex object.

"There's a pair of dark glasses in the glove box, put them on," I told him.

He blazed at me. "You think that will disguise me? You think a pair of glasses will straighten this back?"

"You're going to be a blind man," I told him softly. "The help I want to take with me isn't allowed on the subway except with a blind man."

He didn't understand and started to say so but I cut him off. "I'm in your corner and I know this murderous sonofabitch better than you do. Please put the glasses on." He pulled an angry face, but he did as I asked. They were a very dark pair, clumsy and large on him. I had found them at the site of an accident in Murphy's Harbour. They had outlived their previous owner and I had picked them up and kept them. I don't wear them, but the occasional passenger does. Now it was Straight. They added to the pathos of his crooked back. I knew that nobody but a true bastard would give him any hassle when he took Sam on the train.

I turned north on Yonge Street before I noticed the blue Datsun in my mirror. I had seen it come out of a side street as I drove away from Straight's house. It could have been coincidence but I watched it as we drove north. There were two people in it and it stayed behind me, two cars back, moving legally. I didn't act immediately. After all, Yonge Street is the most heavily travelled street in Canada. Then, as an experiment, I turned without signalling, just cutting left between a couple of cars and heading down one of the side streets that have been fitted with anti-speeding bumps. I kept the Chev moving fairly fast and we bottomed on the springs as I rolled over the first set of bumps. I slowed, checking the mirror, and saw the Datsun careen around the corner behind me, moving at my speed.

Straight was holding on to the dashboard, his mouth open to protest. "We're being followed," I told him. "Don't look round." He flicked a glance at me but in the same instant I hit the second set of speed bumps and settled with a scrunch that had my rear end dragging sparks off the roadway.

The Datsun wasn't as reckless. I gained twenty yards on him at each of the bumps and was half a block ahead by the time I turned on to Avenue Road. I swung north and stuck to the curb lane. Balmoral Street runs off to the west again but just north on my side there was a one-way street much closer. I broke the law and wisked into it the wrong way, causing an oncoming Mercedes to swerve and honk but not loudly enough for the Datsun people to hear.

Straight said, "What the hell are you doing?" but I ignored him. The road curves fifty yards from the corner with Avenue Road and I pulled around there and backed into the nearest driveway, all the way up behind the house. I waited for a minute, time enough for the Datsun to have missed us and headed west along Balmoral. An elderly man, frosty enough to be Straight's father-in-law, came out of the garage and said, "I say," in the kind of voice you hear in twilight-of-the-empire movies. I beamed at him and said, "No hablo Inglese," which made him open his mouth in astonishment, then I drove out and up to St. Clair Avenue, still against oncoming traffic. Fortunately there was no policeman around and all I had to put up with was waves and abuse from outraged senior citizens obeying the law on the street where they lived.

In eight more minutes I was outside Louise's house. I told Straight to sit tight and ran in to get Sam. He came easily so I knew there was nobody prowling in the house. I gave him thirty seconds to himself and then whipped the rear door of my car open and he jumped in. I have a leash in the car. It's not necessary for Sam, I could take him to a dog fight and he wouldn't look sideways until told to, but I keep it there for use in places where dogs are not supposed to be.

I snapped it on to his collar and told him "Good boy" then drove back out to Yonge Street and down to the nearest subway station at Davisville. I abandoned my car at a meter that was magically vacant just when I needed it and with Sam and Straight jogged over to the subway entrance. Outside I handed Straight the leash and told him, "Say nothing, just make like you're following Sam." Then I stepped in front of Sam and told him "Heel" and led the way into the station.

The Korean at the ticket window looked at Sam and frowned, but before he could speak I cut him off. "Me 'n my buddy are from Sudbury, that's his guide dog. What's the fare?"

He told me and I put the coins in, then made a show of helping Straight through the wicket. Still leading the way I went down the stairs and headed for the southbound trains. It was ten to one. We had just enough time.

Straight was behind me and I stopped against the wall so he pulled up there, not looking around. There were a couple of people at the station, a businessman with a briefcase and a girl pretty enough to be a model, carrying one of those leather cases that contain photographs. The businessman looked us over, the girl ignored us. I said to Straight. "You're doing fine. When this is over, you can take up amateur acting."

"Yes," he said curtly. "I'll be a natural for Richard the Third." The train came into the station and I moved forward, with Sam behind me and Straight behind him. There were lots of spare seats and I took one facing the door. Sam curled at my feet and Straight sat beside me, looking dead ahead, being serious about his part. I could tell that Sam's training was reassuring him, he wasn't sure what was going to happen, but felt better equipped with Sam along.

When the train started he leaned towards me, whispering. "Who was that following you?" I didn't speak for a moment and he went on nervously, "Did they follow us on to the train?"

"No. Relax. Whoever it was is long gone. Now what I need to know is, what's the meeting place?" I was recapturing the interior of the Eaton Centre in my mind, trying to plan what to do. It was a good choice of rendezvous. It's a three-tiered shopping plaza under a glass roof. Tourists love it, it's replaced Niagara Falls as our most visited tourist attraction. At this time of day, out of tourist season, there would still be five thousand people in there. Willis would be able to hide in the crowds and melt away without being seen. He had a choice of ways to escape. The subway had two stations right in the place. He could jump on to a train and vanish. One stop up or down the line would put him beyond reach of a search party. Or, he could have his car in the lot, ready to race. Or he could flee on foot. A hundred men searching would be no guarantee of finding him, and all I had was me, and Sam.