Natural Causes (30 page)

“Here, Cat,” he said. “You been good to me. Then and now. This here is ball you threw to clinch division title against Toronto. Remember? I’ve almost sold it half a dozen times, but I always say, ‘No. This is Cat’s ball, and someday I’m gonna have the chance to give it to him.’ ”

“That’s very nice, Benny. Thanks.”

Matt hefted the ball a couple of times and then dropped it into his jacket pocket.

“You just be careful of Sze-to,” Benny said. “Be careful, and keep Benny Hsing’s name out of it. Good luck, miss.”

Sarah thanked him and then preceded Matt down the dimly lit stairs to the fetid entryway. Outside the glass-front door the rain was heavier now, and more wind-whipped.

“Let’s go to that diner at the corner and figure out what we want to do next,” Matt said.

Sarah gestured to their surroundings and pinched her nose shut. “Anything that will get us out of this spot.
That was really pretty sweet of Benny, though. Don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Giving you that baseball.”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “That was very sweet except for one thing. I already have the ball from that Toronto game in a case in my den.”

The steady rain continued, though it still was something less than a thunderstorm. After coffee and deep dish apple pie, Sarah and Matt left the small diner and darted from doorway to doorway to a Bank of Boston money machine. They had considered and rejected all of the options they could think of, and had finally returned to the first one—find Tommy Sze-to and somehow get him to disclose who had hired him, and why. They would resort to whatever it took: pleading, bribery, threats—if necessary, even some arm twisting.

Sarah no longer harbored any doubt that someone had hired Tommy Sze-to to tamper with the herbs in Kwong Tian-Wen’s shop. Someone out there wanted to see the old man ruined or Sarah’s career destroyed. Possibly both. But the chances of keeping a gangster like Sze-to around Boston long enough to have him questioned through legal channels were slim—roughly the same as the chances of interesting those legal channels in the whole business to begin with. There really was no good option. They had to confront Sze-to before he learned they were after him and disappeared. It was that simple.

The money machine refused to shell out more than $250, but Matt allowed as how that might be to the machine’s credit. They darted and splashed the four blocks to the address Benny had given them for Maurice Fang’s all-night poker game. Though unasked, the question of what might have happened to Andrew Truscott continued to gnaw at them both.

Their plan—what little there was of it—was to act as if
they had official legal business with Sze-to, maybe some money due him.

“What if he doesn’t bite on that?” Sarah asked.

“Then we move on to Plan B, whatever that is. In the end, everything just might boil down to which one of us is bigger.”

“Or more heavily armed.…”

The three-story, dilapidated building was tucked on a narrow side street just a block from Kwong’s shop. The street door opened on a foyer that was cluttered with junk mail and no better lit than the one on Regal Street. The avocado-green door, painted in high-gloss enamel, was just at the top of the first flight of stairs. Sarah and Matt could hear string music and a woman’s high-pitched singing voice from the other side.

“Just remember to look like you know what you’re doing,” Matt whispered before he knocked.

The door was opened a fraction of an inch—just enough for them to see a sliver of a face and a single, rheumy eye. The singing, louder now, was Chinese, and clearly a recording of some sort.

“What do you want?”

The voice was gravelly and impatient.

“My name’s Matt Daniels.” Matt flashed a business card, then just as quickly put it away. “I’m an attorney with Hannigan, Daniels, and Chung. If you’re Maurice Fang, I need to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“Actually, it’s about money that is owed to one of your clients. A lot of money. Mr. Fang—please. I know about the card game going on in there, and I couldn’t care less. But I don’t do business standing in hallways. Now please, could we come in? It’s very late, and I’d really like to get this whole thing over and call it a night.”

Out of sight of the eye, Sarah nodded that she was impressed with Matt’s performance. After a momentary hesitation, the police bar was moved aside and the avocado
door opened. Maurice Fang’s apartment was considerably better furnished than Benny Hsing’s, but it was also a lot smokier. A thin, cirrus cloud wafted out from a room one doorway down the hall.

“Who are you looking for?” Fang asked.

He was a willowy man, perhaps sixty, wearing a black dress shirt and solid white tie.
Someone’s grandfather trying to be Nathan Detroit
was Sarah’s first impression. Matt immediately maneuvered his way around so that he was between Fang and the smoke-filled room.

“As I said, I’m an attorney. This is my associate, Miss Sharp. There’s been an estate settlement. We’re trying to find a man named Sze-to. First name, Tommy. I’ve been authorized to pay up to fifty dollars for information that will help me find him so that we can take care of this matter. We’ve been looking for him all day. Finally someone suggested we try here.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Fang, I’m a lawyer. Everything that’s told to me is told in confidence. That way no one has to worry. Including you.”

“Let’s see the fifty,” Maurice Fang said.

He took the bills and ordered Matt and Sarah to wait in the living room. Then he stepped around them and into the card room. Matt remained where he was. Sarah moved up beside him. After a minute, Fang returned and handed back the fifty.

“No one knows where Sze-to is,” he said. “Hey! Wait a minute!”

Matt had barged past him to the doorway.

“I want to ask myself,” he said. “We’ve had a long day.”

Sarah stepped up behind him and could see immediately that one of the six Chinese men playing cards and smoking was Tommy Sze-to. He was slightly built and pasty, with simian features, a pencil mustache, and a striking scar running exactly as Benny had depicted.

Maurice Fang tried to pull Matt from the room, but Matt easily shook him off.

“I don’t know if any of you is Mr. Tommy Sze-to,” he lied, “but I need to speak to him about money he’s got coming to him—a lot of money.”

The men at the table just stared up at him. No one moved.

“You see?” Fang protested. “You see? Now, get the hell out of here!”

Matt glanced back at Sarah. They both knew there might never be a second chance. Sze-to was obviously not buying Matt’s story.

“I guess we go to Plan B,” Matt whispered over his shoulder.

He gauged the room for a moment, and then stepped forward and grasped a startled Tommy Sze-to’s right hand with his.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sze-to. Nice to meet you,” he gushed.

Before Sze-to could react, Matt pulled him to his feet, twisted his right hand behind his back, and locked his own left arm around the smaller man’s neck.

“What the fuck?” Sze-to gurgled.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Tommy,” Matt said, pulling him out into the narrow hallway, “but we need to talk.” He tightened his grip. “Do you understand?”

Sze-to nodded. Matt kept his firm hold and turned Sze-to around to face Sarah.

“Do you know who she is?” he demanded. “Do you?”

Sze-to struggled briefly, but quickly gave up. He was at least six inches shorter than Matt and fifty pounds lighter.

“Let go,” he managed to say.

“Do you know who she is?”

“Yes.”

“And why we’re here?”

“Yes. Yes. Let go.”

Matt loosened his grip. With sudden, surprising speed, Sze-to whipped his hand free, slammed Matt backhand across the face, and then kicked him full force in the groin. Matt grunted in pain and reeled back heavily against the wall. Sze-to moved to follow up, but Matt was already steadying himself. After the briefest hesitation, the gangster cried out something in Chinese to Maurice Fang, sprinted to the window at the end of the hall, and dove through it onto the fire escape. Matt, his eyes glazed and watery, the corner of his mouth bleeding, lurched after him, with Sarah close behind. They saw Sze-to vanish from the platform. Then they heard him cry out in pain from the alley below.

“He’s hurt himself,” Matt said, peering into the rainswept darkness through what remained of the window. “We can get him.”

Without waiting for Sarah to respond, he stepped out onto the slick, slatted metal platform. In seconds, she was beside him.

“Fuck you, you crazy bastard!” they heard Maurice Fang cry out.

Sze-to, apparently unable to loosen the escape ladder, had jumped. Now he was about twenty yards away, hobbling badly through the heavy rain toward another alleyway.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Matt said, kneeling and releasing the ladder.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked as he scrambled down to the muddy, ill-paved alley.

“Later!” he shot back. “Come on.”

Sarah slid as much as climbed down the ladder and dashed after Matt, sloshing through muddy puddles as she ran. She caught up with him at the corner of the next alley. It was lined with trash cans and overflowing cardboard boxes, and had no working lights. They peered through the darkness and the rain, but could see no one.

“What did Sze-to yell out back there to Maurice?”
Matt asked, taking a few tentative steps down the alley. “Could you tell?”

“I’m not sure. ‘Call Guo-Ming.’ Something like that.”

They made their way carefully down the alley. Ahead there were any number of places where Tommy Sze-to could be hiding, perhaps waiting to ambush them. Suddenly a brilliant spear of lightning flooded the alley with light. Moments later thunder exploded. Then there was another flash.

“There!” Matt cried, pointing ahead.

Sze-to was a shadow, gliding along the building, heading toward the far end of the alley. The moment he heard Matt’s voice, he took off. They sprinted after him, across a deserted street, and onto the ribbons of railroad track leading into massive South Station. Ahead of them, Sze-to hobbled toward a row of vacant passenger cars and ducked between two of them. Breathless now in the heavy air, Matt followed, with Sarah, clearly more fit, just a few steps behind. They worked their way between the two cars. Then they froze.

Sze-to was, perhaps, fifteen yards away. But he had ceased running, and turned to face them. Standing alongside him in the downpour were three other men. Two were Asians, one of whom was holding a gun. The third was Andrew Truscott.

“Jesus,” Matt murmured.

“Matt, that’s Andrew,” she whispered, squinting through the gloom.

“I guessed,” he said sardonically.

“Andrew, what are you doing?” she called out. “What’s going on here?”

“Come here,” Sze-to yelled out over the rumble of rain on the steel cars. “Move slowly. Guo-Ming, here, is an excellent shot. Don’t make him prove it.”

“Andrew, what’s going on?” Sarah pleaded.

“Sarah, can’t you see?” Matt said in an urgent whisper. “Get behind me and move back toward the cars. Quickly!”

Sarah did not understand what he meant, but she did as he demanded.

“Another step and you’re both dead,” Sze-to warned. “Just like your friend here.”

The men standing on either side of Andrew moved away, and his lifeless body crumpled forward onto the tracks.

“Guo-Ming, please kill them,” Sze-to said calmly.

“Sarah, run!” Matt cried out as Sze-to limped forward behind the other two men. “Run!”

Matt’s right hand was already in his sport coat pocket, his fingers tight around the baseball. With a continuous, fluid motion, he drew the ball out, stepped forward, and threw. The gunman, now no more than thirty feet away, spent a second trying to comprehend what was happening. For him, that second was far too long. The pitch, a hard rising fastball, caught him squarely in the throat, just above the breastbone. The revolver discharged harmlessly, then clattered to the gravel. The man snapped backward as if kicked by a mule, dropped heavily to the ground, and lay there moaning.

Sarah was already backing through the space between the cars.

“Run, Sarah!” Matt called out again. “Back toward the alley!”

They recrossed the road. As they reached the alley, they turned back in time to see Sze-to and the remaining man climb out from between the cars. The revolver, now in Sze-to’s hand, sparked. The brick just to the right of Sarah’s head shattered. Matt grabbed her hand and pulled her down. Then together they whirled and sprinted down the alley.

D
O YOU SEE THEM?”
S
ARAH ASKED
.

They were on a dark, deserted street, huddled behind a parked car. It was nearing midnight. The relentless, stinging downpour was continuing. Matt peered through the windows of the car.

“They’re across the street,” he whispered.
“I
don’t think that other guy wants to go too far without Sze-to, and Sze-to’s having trouble moving with that leg so messed up. I think we can beat them out of here.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“Not exactly. But downtown is that way.”

Sarah inched her way up until she could see the two men. They didn’t seem to be moving with any great urgency.

“They’re crazy! They killed Andrew. Matt, I’m really scared. I can’t stop shaking.”

“That means you’re going to have to be in charge because I’m worse off than you are. Listen, we can do this. Sze-to can hardly move.” He scanned the street. “That alley over there. We break for it, and then try and
make it to Stuart Street—or at least to where there are some people. You okay for that?”

“Matt, look!”

Where moments ago there had been two, now there were four. A pair of men had emerged from behind Sze-to, and now stood beside him, scanning the street. One of the new men held a gun. The other was speaking into a cellular phone or radio of some sort. Both of them looked relaxed and athletic.

“Jesus, they’re like an army.”

“The tong. Remember what Benny said about them?”

“We’ve got to get out of here.”