Changes -- A Randall Lee Mystery Page 18

  Tony picked at his food, something with duck and corn cakes, and said, "Dr. Lee, have you found anything out about the murderers?"

  I cleared my throat and took a drink before saying, "Well, there are a lot of things I needed to talk to you about… I was waiting for a polite way to bring it up. Thank you for saving me the trouble. There are some…difficult things I have to tell you, I’m afraid."

  Tony frowned and said, "Go on."

  "Certain details of your fiancé’s death hinted that your father might have been involved. Clearly that is not the case, but it does seem that your father’s business may figure into things."

  "What details?" he said.

  I cleared my throat again and looked at the millimeter of beer left in my glass. I flagged down our waitress and ordered another beer. I have found that a full beverage is essential when discussing unpleasant matters. It gives you something to do while thinking up tactful ways to word things. As my cup runneth dry, however, I had to just shoot straight.

  "She was found in one of your father’s massage parlors, where she worked, apparently. She lived in an apartment building with the other girls. In her apartment, we found a suitcase with over two hundred thousand dollars in cash in it. And pretty much every lead we’ve managed to find is either dead or comatose, so if you’ve got anything that could be helpful here, I’d like to hear it."

  Tony stared at me.

  The waitress brought my beer.

  I drank some while he stared.

  When he finally spoke, he said, "My father was a good man, Dr. Lee. He believed in something with all his heart. He believed in the Eight Tigers, said they were protectors of our heritage. He said they embodied the spirit of the Han, the Chinese people. More than anything, he wanted a successor. Someone who shared his dream. I was… a disappointment to my father in a great many ways… I see that now. When I return to San Francisco, I will put aside childish things. I will be the man my father believed I could be."

  "And Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes," I said.

  "What?" Tony said.

  "The Godfather. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen The Godfather, Tony."

  He hesitantly shook his head.

  "Go rent it. Tonight. No more speeches from you about family and duty and all that jazz until you watch it. Don’t be a Michael Corleone, Tony. You’re an artist. A damned good artist. Be that artist. Your father was proud of your art; he was proud of you. Whatever’s going on, now is not a healthy time to be a gangster."

  "The Tigers need me," he said.

  "Listen, kid, getting yourself killed isn’t going to impress him. And if you get capped, then what? Who runs the Eight Tigers then?"

  He thought about that and remained silent.

  "We need to consider the possibility that this whole deal could be a war for succession of the Triad… they took out your fiancé and child – the future – and your father – the past – and all that’s left of the Lau interest in the Eight Tigers is you," I said.

  He nodded and said, "We know."

  "What concerns me, though… the part I really don’t get…is Mei Ling’s role in all of this. What was she doing? Who was she running from? Where’d she get that kind of cash?"

  Tony remained silent. Considering it was usually what I did when faced with any one of the ten billion things I didn’t know in this case, I didn’t blame him.

  "When did you two meet?" I said.

  "We were just children." he said. "It was an arrangement."

  "Like an arranged marriage?" I said.

  He nodded.

  "How much time did you spend with her?" I said.

  "Some, as children. When we moved to the states, I said goodbye to her. I didn’t expect to see her again, really, but she came to San Francisco last spring."

  I ate some more, and said, "And then what? You guys decided to keep the old arrangement just to keep dad happy?"

  "She was a kind person. We enjoyed each other’s company."

  "So you hit it off and that was that," I said.

  "More or less."

  "And the money?"

  "Perhaps…" he said, "it may have been some kind of dowry."

  "I always thought those were paid from the bride’s family to the groom," I said.

  He nodded.

  "So what, Tony, she was holding out on you?"

  "I don’t know," he said.

  "You know something," I said.

  He slammed some beer and said, "My father paid her to come, okay? At first, I didn’t know, but eventually she told me. He believed she was my perfect match, and he very much wanted us to be together."

  "Why? Why’d he believe she was your perfect match?"

  "He consulted with several astrologers and priests. Our birthdays and signs made for a fortuitous match. I do not believe in those things, myself, but my father was very traditional."

  "Your father was a Taoist," I said.

  "Yes."

  "I’m going to need to know the names of those priests," I said.

  "Why?"

  "Because the man who murdered your father and Mei Ling was very knowledgeable about Taoist rites."

  "I’ll see what I can find out," he said, sounding determined.

  That made two of us. This was the closest thing to actual progress I’d made in a long time. It was so exciting I barely contained a schoolgirl-like squee.

  After dinner, Tracy and I took a walk down Delmar. The night was cold but beautiful. We had coats and fully functional immune systems, so we decided to live a little.

  "I used to live here, you know?" Tracy said as we strolled along, arm in arm.

  "No, really?"

  "Mm-hmm. Right over there," she pointed to one of the stores across the street. "On the third floor. Total shithole, but I loved it. Every city has a vibe, y’know? A personality. For me, this is the soul of St Louis, right here."

  I hadn’t been in town long enough to know about that, but it was certainly a colorful area. A line of kids decked out in their finest punk threads wove around a music venue called The Pageant. "I used to go there almost every weekend. Didn’t even matter who was playing," Tracy said.

  Skaters zoomed past us, trying out tricks and nearly breaking themselves on the pavement. Yuppies talked $800 loveseats as they power-walked past; a homeless woman tried to sell me a hemp necklace.

  "Right down here," she said, pointing to a nonspecific place down the street from where we stood, "there’s this courtyard, and on the weekends they have swing dancing… so cool. You ever dance, Randall?"

  "Not if I can help it," I said.

  "Aw, why not?" She said as she huddled against my arm and shivered.

  I shrugged and put an arm around her.

  "Trauma," I said.

  She stopped and looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

  "When I was a kid, my dad hauled me off to Nebraska for my aunt’s wedding. It was my first trip to the states, first time I’d met my aunt, even. At the reception, this girl – she was probably ten - grabbed my arm and dragged me to the dance floor. I got passed around among all the older girls – who thought I was cute, apparently – for the rest of the night. It was awful."

  Tracy giggled and said, "A lot of guys would love that."

  "Yeah, well, I was five at the time."

  "Aw…widdle Wandall Lee," she cooed.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Would you ever dance with me?" She said. "I promise not to drag you or pass you around like a joint…"

  I shrugged again.

  Dancing, for me, was an outdated and uncomfortable part of the mating ritual - Praying mantises eat their mate’s heads, humans dance. But, I’d learned a thing or two in my life; enough, at least, to know not to say that to her.

  "Yeah. Sure. Sometime."

  She narrowed her eyes and said, "But not now."

  "Never on a full stomach… you can get cramps and die that way, y’know."

  She leaned in close, put her arms around my neck, and touched her
nose to mine.

  "You are a poo, Randall Lee," she said.

  I’d been called worse, and besides…this girl actually liked me.

  "Shall we go home?" I said.

  "You mean the hotel?" she said.

  "Yes."

  "I suppose."

  "I lost points with the no-dancing thing, huh?"

  "Big time."

  "However will I get back in your good graces?" I said.

  "I’ll just have to think of something…" she said.

  69

  Too soon and far too early, I pried myself from the seductive warmth of Tracy and our shared bed and spent the morning in a freezing cold basement with a crotchety old man.

  I had to get my priorities straight, obviously.

  I practiced the entire form as Master Cheng watched. I went from movement to movement as slowly as I could, focusing on relaxing and keeping the ‘spirit of play’ Master Cheng spoke of.

  When I completed the form, he grunted and walked away. I was left standing there in his basement, alone, for ten minutes wondering if I’d screwed up so badly that I hadn’t even earned a dismissal. When he returned, he threw a broom at me.

  "Follow," he said.

  He drew a long, straight sword – a jian – and assumed a preparatory stance; I mimicked him as best I could with the broom. Small clouds of dust fell from the old bristles and hovered in front of my face. Cheng began to move; he was so subtle and smooth that he’d raised his arm to chest height before I realized he’d begun. I hurried to catch up and he said, "Ay! Slow, dickhead. This is why you have a broom and I have a blade… American mind does not grasp this sort of grace, this finesse. Too herky-jerky. Too rush-rush. Let yourself be slow. Let yourself float. Become… empty…"

  He continued on through the form and I attempted to follow. I had not practiced Tai Chi sword in many years, and this form was different from anything I knew; I felt, again, like a beginner. Difficult as the movements were, I was distracted. I wanted to be checking out the things Tony Lau had told me, I wanted to be looking for the man responsible for destroying his family.

  Cheng turned and his blade swept in a wide, slow motion arc. I was so focused on my broom that I was nearly very slowly decapitated. Master Cheng stopped and sheathed his sword.

  "Even you are not normally this stupid. What is the problem?"

  "I…"

  "So scatterbrained. You still with the cops?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Still poking around after young girls?"

  I wasn’t sure if he meant Tracy or Mei Ling, but I nodded.

  "Aiya. You piss away too much energy. Better to focus on one thing, eh?"

  I nodded.

  "Okay," he said, wearily resuming his beginning stance. "Let’s… Oh for Christ’s sake, Lee… pay attention."

  I wasn’t sure how he’d known that I was recalling my dinner with Tony Lau, but I jerked to a ready stance. He stretched his neck like a turtle and settled back into the movements. I followed, but before long I was thinking of Mei Ling, and whether or not Tracy had been right. Was I really trying to compensate for—?

  The broom in my hands exploded into a cloud of splinters before I saw him move. The tip of Cheng’s sword pricked the soft underside of my chin, tilting my head back until all I could see were the cobwebs on the ceiling. I was balanced on my heels; if he moved forward as much as a hair’s breadth, I would topple to the floor, powerless, if I was lucky.

  Or have my skull skewered, if I wasn’t.

  I learned that I don’t like feeling powerless.

  "Too easy you forget. Tai Chi Chuan is life or death. Focus now?"

  I couldn’t open my mouth without upsetting my balance. I couldn’t nod without skewering myself. I raised a hand, slowly, and touched my index finger and thumb together into the universal symbol for ‘ok’. He lowered his sword, snipping off the top two buttons of my shirt as he did, and said, "Perhaps we talk about things on your mind, hey?"

  I rubbed my chin and came away with a thin red smear on my hand.

  "Don’t be a baby… you do worse shaving," he said, seeing it.

  Christ.

  In an effort to economize his busy time, Master Cheng suggested that we talk and eat. Far from the exotic vegan diets my old teacher, Master Wu, prescribed for his students and patients, Master Cheng took me to his favorite restaurant – Burger King. He unwrapped his Ultimate Omelet sandwich with a look of unmatched bliss. I peeled back the plastic lid of my coffee and promptly burned my mouth with the first molten sip.

  "Alright," Master Cheng said, lips smacking as he chewed, "what’s your problem, huh?"

  "Everything, I suppose," I said.

  "Maybe you pick one thing," he said. Everything revolved around Mei Ling’s murder, so I picked that. I told him about Jimmy Lau and Samson. I told him about the death threats. I told him about dinner with Tony Lau. He dabbed a bit of egg from his lip with a napkin and drank some Dr. Pepper.

  "Who is this girl?" He said.

  "Mei Ling Zhao," I said, "the girl I showed you pictures of, the one you…"

  He screwed up his face and said, "I know which girl you speak of, turnip. What I mean is who is she?"

  "Tony Lau’s fiancée."

  "Yes, but who is she? Why so much problem for this girl? You or gorilla cop-man think of that? This girl started something, eh? How many people hurt or dead here? All because of one young girl? Must be important girl, eh?"

  70

  When I left Cheng’s, I called Tony Lau and got his voicemail. I left a short message, saying that I needed more information about Mei Ling.

  Master was right; whatever was going on, it was quickly racking up an impressive body count.

  I got in Tracy’s car and, after spending five minutes trying to get the thing started, decided to take the long way back to the hotel. I was finishing up filling out the paperwork when Tracy called to make sure I wasn’t dead.

  "What are you up to?" she said.

  "It’s a surprise," I said.

  "Well… death threats, living in the Ritz, having awesome dinners with terminally cute gangster types, I’m not sure my heart can take any more of this excitement."

  I drove back to the hotel and called her back to tell her to meet me downstairs. She stood near the front doors, wearing an ankle-length denim skirt, a white Failure concert shirt and a maroon, thrift store cardigan. The doorman looked like he was on the verge of calling security.

  When I pulled up in front of the door, Tracy’s eyes widened.

  "Uh… Randall? What is that?" She said.

  "My new car. You like?"

  She opened the passenger side door and climbed in, looking around like she’d never been in a car before. "Where’s my car?" She said.

  "At the dealership. We can go pick it up."

  She kept looking around. She occasionally moved her mouth, but no sound came out. I kicked it into gear and we were off.

  "I’m told it can go zero to sixty in less than four seconds, but I haven’t tried that yet," I said.

  "How?" She finally said. I didn’t know enough about cars to explain. Luckily, I knew that wasn’t what she meant.

  "Your car was being a little grumpy in the cold, and I feel terrible for having to borrow it all the time anyway, so I went to a couple dealers looking for something like my dear old car… turns out, apparently they don’t make the Stealth anymore. The salesman had me try this puppy out instead. It’s a little more than I’d planned to spend, but what the hell."

  "…It’s a fucking Viper," she said.

  "Yes. It’s a convertible, too."

  "Randall… aren’t these, like, way expensive?"

  "Maybe a little," I said.

  "Okay, this is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I didn’t know how to without seeming rude…"

  "Shoot," I said.

  "What the fuck, Randall? I mean, I haven’t paid for a thing since we’ve been together. And then there’s your little jaunt to San Fran, and the
Ritz? Do you have any idea what room service cost…just for my breakfast this morning? And now this car…"

  "It’s alright. I make a decent living," I said.

  She stared at me. We both knew that my business was not booming.

  "Alright," I said, "Remember my dad?"

  "The tax attorney," she said.

  "Yeah. When he died, he left me a little money."

  We stopped at a stop light.

  "A little?" Tracy said.

  "Yeah, around a hundred grand," I said.

  "That’s not that much, Randall."

  "No," I said, "but he also left me his stock portfolio. And his real estate holdings. And I make a decent living poking people."

  She sat very still.

  The light changed, and we were the first car off it.

  Vroom, vroom.

  "…If you have money… why do you live in such a shithole?" Tracy said.

  I turned and looked at her in shock. "I happen to like my apartment. Besides, I moved there for my shop. Good location."

  She resumed her stillness, her silence. When she spoke, she said, "…So… are you…rich?"

  I grinned and said, "Oh, I dunno. You’d have to ask my financial advisor that."

  71

  We picked up Tracy’s car and agreed to meet back at the hotel. I was glad. I didn’t feel like talking about money any more.

  She didn’t get it.

  Why did I bother with my practice?

  Why not leave town till the trouble had blown over?

  Why not live a life of luxury?

  The fact was that there wasn’t much that I wanted that I could actually buy. Every now and then, like today, I would splurge, but otherwise things were fine. Why make a big deal out of it?

  I was an acupuncturist because it was the only thing I knew, and I suppose I liked doing it and it helped people occasionally. And as for the trouble, well, I was responsible for some of it.

  I clean up my own messes.

  Part of me worried that things would be weird between us now. I was not only older, I was – gasp – a sugar-daddy. All of it gave me a headache, so I turned up my new, expensive stereo and tried not to think too much.