Robert Tanenbaum - Act of Revenge

“Interesting, though. How many triad guys from Hong Kong are in New York at any one time?”

“Fourteen hundred and two, for all we know,” said Karp sourly. “There’s not a lot of intelligence coming from that sector.”

“True, but it strikes me as funny anyway that two of them get whacked and another claims he arranged a murder for the Mob. Maybe that’s his regular line of work.”

Karp shrugged. This was speculation, and V.T. knew that speculation in advance of any evidence was to Karp the next thing to an indictable offense. It always amazed V.T., who loved speculation himself, that his friend had no interest at all in whodunit, but only cared about how-you-got-’em.

After a vaguely embarrassing pause Karp said, “So what else do you have besides this ID?”

“Not a lot,” V.T. admitted. “The guy’s illegal, so he has no decent paper and we have no record of entry. He lives in a two-room, third-floor walk-up on Bayard Street, pays cash, no phone, no car, no bank account that anyone can find. The feds, of course, tossed the place pretty thoroughly by the time we got our warrant, so no great finds there. He hangs out in little restaurants, uses pay phones. He’s connected with a Chinatown gang called the White Dragons, runs the usual extortion business, supplies guards for illegal gambling games, provides girls for Chinatown big shots. A typical small-time gangster, just like he says he is. Or so it seems.”

“Why ‘or so it seems’?”

“Because why would a major Hong Kong triad hood come to New York with just the clothes he’s walking around in to shake down Chinese restaurants for lucky money?”

“He was a major drug trafficker.”

“So he says, but still, it doesn’t answer the question why, of all the hoods in Chinatown, he gets picked to whack a heavy wise guy. Then, instead of splitting to Hong Kong or some other Chinese neighborhood where there isn’t a chance in hell the Mob would ever find him, he walks in out of nowhere and asks for Butch Karp and spills his guts in return for immunity and protection. Which, when he doesn’t get it, he waltzes over to the feds and slips into a federal witness-protection program. This is a guy from a criminal subculture that never deals with the authorities. These guys make the Mob look like a flock of canaries. It doesn’t make sense.”

Karp made once again the deep sniffing noise he had used with Keegan earlier. V.T. grinned and nodded. Karp related the same suspicions to him.

V.T. said, “So you think somebody is knocking off the Bollano family in a very subtle way, so as not to engage the attention of the other families. The Bollanos are having a little trouble, we’ll wait and see what happens. The Gambinos, the Lucheses et al. are watching each other, nobody’s making a grab for the territory like they would if it was a full-scale intra-family struggle. And you think the Chinese might be involved?”

“It wouldn’t exactly surprise me. I wish to hell, though, I could figure out his game. The guy’s on ice. When he gets out, he’s not going to be a gangster anymore, he’s going to be a protected witness. Where’s his win, except staying alive, and you already pointed out the flaw there. All he needs is a ticket to some other Chinatown. Can you see some low-hairline Italians trying to find this guy in, say, Panama City? Or Manila?”

“It’d be nice if we had the actual trigger man in Catalano,” said V.T.

“Yeah, it would, but my suspicion is he is never going to give them up unless and until he gets full transactional immunity from all state prosecution on the evidence he presents. Which I am not going to offer. We have to come up with physical evidence, or another witness, or the trigger man or men, so we can put the squeeze on him. I might cut a deal to get the guys who ordered the hit, but I’m not giving this mutt a free ride with as little solid information as we have now. Colombo can play that game, not me. Frankly, I was hoping you’d find a stash of money with Joe’s prints all over it or a pocket diary with an entry ‘three a.m., commit murder, pick up milk and corn flakes.’ You let me down again , V.T.”

“What can I say, I’m a sack of shit. Talking about games, we don’t know what game Hong Kong is playing. We don’t know this Captain Chui from a hole in the wall. He could be bent. The real Nia wants to disappear, the cops there get this call from New York, who is this guy? Captain Chui, who’s been on the triad payroll for years, says to himself, oh, great, we’ll say it’s Mr. Nia. That way there’s a record of the guy in custody in New York, case closed in Hong Kong.”

“Yes, and they all lived happily ever after. It could be anything , V.T. This whole thing reeks of fanciness, from the bullet through the clock to Little Sally’s old lady in that goddamn shelter. Shit!” Karp rubbed his face, a characteristic gesture of terminal frustration. “I hate this crap. It’s wrong . There’s a mind behind this, fucking with us, and I think Mr. Lie knows who it is.”

“Maybe, but in any case, the fucking is succeeding. We are fucked. So what’s next, boss?”

“The usual. Keep poking. I don’t believe in criminal masterminds. Fu Manchu has left the building. There’s always something they miss. For example, where’s the money?”

“I told you, the guy doesn’t have a bank anywhere that I could find.”

“Bullshit! I can’t believe some of that murder contract didn’t stick to his fingers, and besides, the guy’s a gangster. A fucking drug lord, to quote our colorful press. Gangsters have cash money, lots of it. It’s not in his apartment, so where is it? Known associates? Girlfriends? Like the man said, follow the money. Get the cops to shake and bake down on Mott Street. And don’t take any of this oh, it’s Chinatown crap. They want to come out of there and play on our court, then they got to play by our rules. Who’re you working with in the Five?”

“Phil Wu.”

“What’s your take?”

“Good. Professional. Speaks the language. Besides that, what can I say-opaque.”

“I want to meet him. He’s got this double murder, too.”

“So you do see a connection. I thought you didn’t want to speculate.”

“I don’t,” said Karp. “But I would like to explore the issue with Detective Wu.”

After V.T. left, Karp explored the issue some more by himself and decided he needed some information from a source unconnected with the mysterious east, but mysterious enough for all that. He called Ray Guma and got him on the line, and came quickly to the point.

“You know Gino Scarpi, Goom?”

“I know all the Scarpis. I know his older brothers better, but I know Gino, too.”

“Have you visited him in the hospital yet?”

“I have not. Gino and I have drifted apart in recent years. You think I should?”

“It’d be a gesture. Go, converse, make him an offer. He’s looking at attempted murder, assault one, discharge firearms, reckless endangerment, B and E, attempted kidnap. That can’t be pleasant.”

A pause on the line. “The Scarpis tend to be stand-up fellas, Butch, I don’t know if-”

“Uh-uh, you misunderstand me, Goom. What I’m interested in is off the record, a sidebar. I need to know how they picked our Chinese guy for the hit on Eddie Cat. I mean, do you believe that they just grabbed one of their dope dealers and pressured him to whack a capo regime ?”

“So you want the background on Willie, nothing you’re going to use in court?”

“Deep background. I also want to know how come it was just now that the wife left Little Sal. And how he knew where she was. And between you and me, if he plays nice on that, when it comes to it, we won’t drop the courthouse on Gino.”