Stephen Knight - White Tiger

“Maybe so, but I’m still not available, so keep it in your pants, hot shot,” Ryker warned with a humor he didn’t necessarily feel. He’d been having trouble keeping his mind focused on the task at hand, and the fact that thoughts of the newly-widowed Valerie Lin kept crowding out his professional sensibilities every thirty seconds weren’t making things any easier. Nor was Chee Wei’s admittedly good-natured banter. Even now, Ryker could see how her dark slacks had clung to her, accentuating the gentle sweeps of her hips and buttocks-

Let’s not go through that again, he thought, recalling his biological reaction to seeing her in the flesh. Revisiting her visage even through the distance of memory was no less likely to prevent such an organic response from reoccurring, and he certainly didn’t need to be popping a boner while riding shotgun with Chee Wei.

The traffic finally broke enough so that Chee Wei could accelerate onto Haight Street and start making up some time. It still took almost fifteen minutes to make it to the rotary at Dewey and Taraval Streets, and then another ten to make it into the central Sunset District proper. They arrived at the address Suzy had given them almost an hour before.

The S.F.P.D. patrol car was sitting in front of a fire hydrant, which in turn sat at the corner before a line of ubiquitous two-story tract homes. Off Taravel, the main street through the area, the neighborhood was very residential and to Ryker’s eye well maintained and neat. The single-family homes generally lacked true front lawns, where concrete driveways or patios were found more often than not. The first story of each home was usually comprised of a one-car garage and the occasional entry, while the second story was where residents lived. From some windows, families would be able to see the blue Pacific Ocean several blocks to the West, and Ryker had seen for himself just how striking the sunsets could be…which begat the district’s name. It was also an integrated neighborhood, with a large Asian population woven into the tapestry. A likely enough background for a young woman to try and lose herself while trying to figure out what to do next.

Chee Wei pulled abreast of the black-and-white Ford patrol car, and Ryker rolled down the window.

“Hey guys, Ryker from Metro,” he said, showing his badge. “Thanks for sitting out here for us, I appreciate it.”

The patrolman sitting in the front passenger seat shrugged. His hair was flecked with gray, and the sergeant’s stripes on his shoulder indicated he was the senior of the two officers.

“You took your sweet time about it,” the sergeant said. “You get sacked by that bang-up on Market?”

“We did, and I’m sorry it took us so long to get here,” Ryker apologized.

The patrol sergeant waved the apology away.

“We get paid the same whether we’re sitting or patrolling. Next time, just give us an address with a better view, all right?”

Ryker smiled. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

The patrol sergeant motioned to his younger Hispanic partner, and the black-and-white hitched forward a bit as the driver dropped it into gear.

“All right, we’re out of here unless you need us to stay. We gotta get back into the rotation.”

“See anyone entering or leaving?” Ryker asked.

The Hispanic patrolman behind the wheel jerked a thumb toward the pastel yellow house off the car’s left rear fender. It had the right number, 2423.

“Saw some activity on the second floor,” he said. “Just someone peeking through the curtains every now and then.”

“Good enough,” Ryker said. “Thanks again.”

He motioned Chee Wei to pull ahead. Chee Wei took his foot off the brake and the big Ford sedan drifted up the street. He watched in his rearview mirror as the patrol car pulled away from the curb and turned onto Quintana. There was a spot a bit further up the street, and he pulled into it without a problem, shoehorning the Crown Vic between an old Chevy pickup and a Toyota Prius.

“I’m the parallel-parking master!” Chee Wei crowed.

“Make sure you send your audition tape to America’s Got Talent ,” Ryker said before he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the passenger door.

“You really need to be more supportive,” Chee Wei griped good-naturedly as he hauled himself out of the car.

Ryker walked down the sidewalk toward the house on the corner. He stopped when he heard Chee Wei call out to him.

“Hey, check it out,” he said.

Ryker turned. Chee Wei was still in the street, looking toward the south. Ryker followed his gaze, and sure enough, the glossy black Mercedes-Benz S550 was parked at the curb about a hundred feet down, its grille pointed toward them. Behind the wheel was a Chinese; beside him was a huge Caucasian man with broad shoulders and an equally broad face. The same men Ryker and Chee Wei had seen leaving Lin’s estate in Tiburon.

Chee Wei bent at the waist and placed his hands on his knees. He stared directly at the car.

“They’re all there-two up front, two in the rear. Good call putting the squad car on the house. You’ll thank me for badgering you about that later, right?”

“Let’s have a chat with them,” Ryker said, reversing course and walking toward the parked Mercedes. Chee Wei fell in with him.

As they advanced, the white man in the passenger seat favored Ryker with an open, appraising stare. He then said something to the driver. The car took off from the curb immediately.

“Hey!” Ryker shouted. “S.F.P.D., stop right there!”

The Mercedes did no such thing. It pulled into a driveway on the opposite side of the street, executed a three-point turn, and accelerated away from the two detectives. Ryker didn’t even have the time to pull his badge.

“Now that’s illegal, disobeying an officer of the law like that,” Chee Wei said, reaching for the cell phone clipped to his belt. “I’ll call it in-our pals on patrol’ll have them pulled over in no time.”

Ryker thought it over for a moment, then shook his head. He didn’t want any more issues with Jericho…or Lin, for that matter.

“Let them go,” he said, as he turned away from the street and headed back toward the sidewalk.

“Come on!” Chee Wei exclaimed. “They were waiting for the patrol guys to pull out, so they could go up there themselves!”

“And what’s wrong with that? It’s a free country.”

Chee Wei hurried after him. “How about that part where they’re interfering with an investigation?”

“So far, they’re not, not really,” Ryker said, stepping onto the sidewalk. He turned and faced Chee Wei. “They can talk with anyone they want to, and we can’t necessarily stop them from that.”

“And they can beat people, like those two gays and the girl in the Tenderloin?”

Ryker put his hands in his pockets and faced his younger partner.

“Chee Wei, the way I see it, this investigation is going to last longer the less we piss off Lin,” he said. “All Lin has to do is make one phone call to set things in motion, and the eventual response will be that Jericho’s balls retract and we’ll get pulled off the case.”

“Even James Lin couldn’t stop us from conducting a murder investigation,” Chee Wei replied. “And why the hell would he want to? His own son was whacked, for God’s sake. For sure he wants to find out who did it, and bring them to justice.”

“I kind of think Lin has a different definition of justice than you do,” Ryker said, glancing back over his shoulder at the neat yellow house at the corner. “I don’t know if he’s figured it out yet, but eventually, he’s going to want cops who are more sympathetic to him on the case. That way, if S.F.P.D. finds the killer, said person gets delivered to Lin’s goons. And this”-he nodded his head in the direction the Mercedes had taken off-“was just par for the course, an initial reaction. Once Lin calms down, he’ll either use us or pull us.”