“What does that mean?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars.”

  “And he thinks this will make up for the millions that his uncle lost?”

  “No. I think he considers it to be an acknowledgement of my culpability and a first step toward retribution. He mentioned that, after my good faith gesture, he would trust me to use my financial skills to pay back what was lost over time.”

  “How did you react?”

  “I was stunned. I asked to speak with George himself, but Takeshi said that the old man was too depressed and confused and angry.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I said that if they looked at my letter and the prospectus, they would see my warnings and clear outline of the risks. I told them I wasn’t responsible for George Liu’s decisions. He had gone well beyond my recommendations and taken an irrational risk.”

  It sounded like a reasonable defense, but I had the feeling that young Takeshi had found it lacking.

  “Takeshi smiled at me, but it was the smile of a dangerous snake. He said that he expected me to hand over one hundred thousand dollars in cash, in one-hundred-dollar bills, in less than a week. At that time, we would discuss further compensation for my treachery.” Dao’s eyes were the size of saucers as if he still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. “Takeshi flung his arms wide and cried that I had betrayed my calling and my clients.”

  “When is he supposed to pick up the cash?”

  “Two days from now. They want to meet here on the boat. At night. They told me to tell no one of our conversation, especially not the police, and that only Meiying and I should await them.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I was shocked. I could hardly speak. I wanted to throw them off my boat. But there were three of them, young, strong. I was sure they carried weapons under their clothes. I thought about Meiying down below, and an overwhelming fear claimed me. I am ashamed.”

  He had nothing to be ashamed about, but it was hard to reassure him. Most people, even in this violent country of ours, are unfamiliar with the natural, visceral human responses to threat and intimidation backed by the use of force. In the face of raw violence, the feelings of helplessness and the damage to one’s ego, pride, and sense of self can be life-altering.

  “Dao, you did the right thing. There’s nothing you could have done then and there. Is there anything more you can tell me about these men?”

  “They aspire to be Yakuza.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I am not an expert, but I have friends in Chinatown who tell me this is a growing problem. Young, aimless men, inspired by myths of the Yakuza. There have been several of these gangs over the years in the city—the Wah Ching and Wo Hop To, along with the Black Dragons operating out of Los Angeles. Some have come and gone, broken up by law enforcement. But new groups always arise.”

  “Did they indicate they were part of a gang?”

  “No. But there were two signs. One, tattoos hidden under the clothes—”

  “Tattoos are pretty common, unfortunately, among the young now—”

  “Not like these. Takeshi, before he left, rolled up his sleeve all the way to his shoulder and showed me an Oni Mask tattoo on his bicep. He flexed his muscle, making the demon with a club tattooed there ripple.”

  “Wow. This guy has watched too many Samurai movies, eh?”

  “He is familiar with Yakuza customs. The Oni are punishers and shape shifters, and they inflict disease, insanity, and death to the wicked. They terrorize and exact retribution.”

  “So he fancies himself a Yakuza?”

  “He probably is a member or leader of a gang based upon Yakuza rites and traditions. Likely no direct connection to actual Yakuza, but I cannot know for sure.”

  “You said there were two reasons.”

  “The other was also tattoos hidden by the clothes. This is typical Yakuza. The tattoos, often extending over the entire body, are usually not carried onto visible areas. Thus, the face and neck and hands and wrists are usually tattoo-free so that gang members cannot be easily identified.”

  That made sense. No reason to make it easier for the cops and your enemies.

  “Let’s get the police involved. You should not meet with these jerks.”

  Dao shook his head back and forth vigorously. “No. No. They said I should tell no one. That if I did, my family would face the wrath of the demon.”

  “You’re kidding. He actually said, ‘wrath of the demon’?”

  Dao nodded grimly.

  “Well, you’re not going to be on this boat when they arrive—”

  “I have to be. Meiying will be in danger and—”

  “If you give them this ‘good faith gesture,’ they won’t stop. They’ve admitted it. You’ll be theirs. This is blackmail. They are threatening Meiying.”

  Dao sighed, gripped his hand around the tea cup and closed his eyes.

  “I don’t know...” he said, his voice trailing off.

  “Lookit, maybe they’re just bluffing. We need to find out more about them. I wish you’d told me sooner, but let me see what I can find out quickly.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, and he opened his eyes and stared bleakly into my face.

  It pained me to see this good, gentle, kind man so tormented.

  These Yakuza wannabes could stand to learn a lesson about picking on somebody their own size.

  Eight

  I was sitting on the back deck of Acapella Blues, sipping Italian Roast with a dash of half and half, staring out onto the tranquil Bay waters and Treasure Island in the distance, which made me think of Poe and his casino and what he might be up to. No good, I was sure, but I hadn’t had any contact with him since the events of Frankie’s case more than nine months ago. I was hoping for that streak of luck to continue for the rest of my life.

  My mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions around the events at the Black Canary along with Dao’s predicament. I was waiting to hear back from Marsh.

  The phone, sitting on the table beside me, rang, and I snatched it up.

  But instead of Marsh’s familiar dulcet tones, a woman’s grating voice blasted my ear drums.

  “What on God’s green earth has been going on, Mr. Plank?”

  It didn’t take me more than a couple of seconds to realize my new client had her panties in a bunch.

  “Good day to you too, Mrs. Wambaugh.”

  “Nonsense. I understand you witnessed Sarah’s shooting?”

  “I was there, yes.”

  “And you spoke with my daughter?”

  “Right again.”

  “I don’t approve.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I didn’t authorize you to speak with either of my children.”

  The woman definitely had a bad case of Mom-entitlemen-mania.

  “Surely you jest.”

  “None of your smart-aleck comments. This is too serious. Too upsetting.”

  “What, precisely, are you worried about?” I was pretty sure it wasn’t a deep concern about Sarah’s health.

  “Well, I do feel sorry about Ms. Swan’s injury. Nevertheless, it’s not surprising, considering her character. What I am concerned about is the effect of all this on poor Christopher and Rachel, who, I’ve learned, has been taken in by that woman’s counterfeit charms.”

  I could almost hear the gnashing and grinding of the matriarchal teeth on the other end of the line.

  “You didn’t know your daughter and Sarah had become friends?”

  “Certainly not. If I had, I would have put a stop to it.”

  Wow.

  “I still don’t know what you have against Sarah. It would be nice to have a clue as to why you so despise her.”

  “Don’t tell me, have you too been deceived? I should have known that—”

  “I’ve haven’t yet had the chance to meet her formally. I heard her sing, which, you’ll be sorry to hear, she does splendidly.”

  She mumbled something that I couldn’t make out and then said, “I think, for the time being, I want to put your services on hold. I don’t want you bothering my children, and with Ms. Swan in the hospital in critical condition, it would be unseemly for you to investigate her any further. I will let you know if your services are needed again once the situation becomes clearer.”

  The word unseemly really hit me like she’d plucked the wrong guitar string.

  “Do you remember what I told you when I agreed to work for you?”

  There was a long pause as she was either trying to recall my words or, having remembered, was letting steam build up in that angry, self-righteous teapot dome of hers.

  “I’m telling you that you’ll be hearing from my attorneys should you proceed in this bull-headed—”

  My phone signaled another call, and I interrupted her, “Must be going, ma’am. Have a pleasant day.”

  I clicked her off and smiled as I sensed the blood-curdling scream that I was sure had exploded from somewhere high atop a hill in Atherton.

  Marsh and I sat outside on the deck of our friend Bo Fiddler’s restaurant, the Rusty Root, not too far from my boat. The air was rife with a briny sea scent, along with the smell of suntan lotion and fish, both fresh and rotting. A pair of seagulls perched on the railing just a few feet from our platters of cod, potatoes, and slaw. They were acting nonchalant, their spring-loaded heads bobbing this way and that, pretending like they cared about something else other than stealing our lunch.

  “You’re kidding?” Marsh said.

  “Nope.”

  “He flexed his bicep, rippling a demon?”

  “Sounds pretty impressive. He must have practiced that in the mirror for days before hauling it out to show Dao.”

  “Undoubtedly a budding DeNiro. What do you think we should do?”

  “Kill them.”

  Marsh is a no-nonsense kind of guy, and his first resort is often most people’s very last.

  “I think we might hold that option off for just a little while.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you think we should let Dao meet with them with us as backup or should we just dispense altogether with the middleman?”

  “Not enough information to make a decision.”

  “What do you suggest then, other than murder?”

  “Dao nixed getting the police involved?”

  “He’s worried about Meiying. I’m sure he thinks that no matter how the cops handle it, they’ll still be vulnerable.”

  “Understandable. But we don’t know what we’re dealing with. How many of them there are and, really, how dangerous? Do they actually have skills or are they just play-acting amateurs. Let me look into this George Liu fellow see if there’s anything about him that gives us a clue.”

  “How about his nephew, Takeshi?”

  “We’ll run him too, although he may not be an actual nephew, and Takeshi may not be his real name.” Marsh forked a potato, gave it a wary stare, and placed it in his mouth.

  “We’ve got less than two days until the meeting.”

  “I should have something by tonight.” Marsh’s ability to gather info never failed to surprise. He had sources and contacts throughout the city and world, and there was always seemed to be somebody in his network with his finger on the pulse of the never-ending nefarious activities happening on the streets of San Francisco. Plus, he had a couple of computer gurus extraordinaire on the payroll, including the comely Portia, a preternaturally talented hacker, who had helped with Frankie’s case.

  “Mrs. Wambaugh wants me off the case.”

  “Can’t blame her. But you’re not going to comply, of course.” Marsh knew my nature, a blind-to-the-consequences doggedness once I had my teeth clenched to the bone. He thought I was nuts, a Knight-Errant, a regular foolish Don Quixote, but he accepted my little peccadillos, just as I did his.

  I shrugged.

  He frowned.

  “You have any clue yet as to why or who tried to kill the singer?”

  “None whatsoever. That’s all I can say, despite Mrs. Wambaugh’s claims, is that, without ever having spoken to her, I like her and all the people around her.”

  “So she’s hot?”

  “Marsh, she’s in critical condition in the hospital.”

  “Doesn’t affect the nature of her basic hotness.”

  “My feelings have nothing to do with her looks.”

  “But I bet she’s hot.”

  I sighed. “Yes, she is attractive. But her singing is so compelling, and her bandmates and friends and the people at the Black Canary love her so much, that you can’t help but get a good vibe. If she doesn’t make it, a lot of people are going to be devastated.”

  “Good vibrations lead to excitations as Brian Wilson would say,” Marsh murmured.

  I rolled my eyes. “Anything to tell me about your trip to the Black Canary and the Children’s Network?”

  “The Black Canary was closed, but I didn’t have to sneak in. The bartender was inside and let me in. We had a nice chat. Alice is a tough butch. But you’re right, she’s one of those who loves Sarah Swan. Didn’t have a single negative thing to say. She was broken up about the shooting. The cops had already grilled her, of course, and she was suspicious of me at first, but my innate charm won out, and by the end, we were good buddies. She wants to go out with me.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Few women, hetero or less, can resist. Unfortunately for them, what they have I don’t need.”

  “She’s attracted to you?”

  “Of course. But she just wants to be friends. We have some of the same views about the gay scene here and, surprise, she’s interested in martial arts and kabuki. She’s meeting me at a gym downtown next week.”

  “Good to hear you’re making friends. But was she helpful at all regarding possible suspects?”

  “A bit. The one person she was a little suspicious of was her boyfriend, Christopher, the youngest member of the Wambaugh clan. She said Sarah had broken up with him and, from what she understood, he was pretty ripped up about it.”

  “Losing a woman like Sarah would more than hurt.”

  “Because she’s such a good singer and so sweet,” Marsh said with a grin on his face.

  “And tres hot,” I said, then added, “What did she think of him?”

  “Alice didn’t know him well. But she thought he was immature for his age, shy and adolescent in some ways. She said he was cute but wondered why Sarah had bothered with him.”

  “That it?”

  “Yes. Alice let me wander around. She showed me where the shooting happened, and I checked out the back alleys for a while. I visited the Children’s Network, but different people were on duty from the night you entered. Everything seemed pretty okay there. They seemed to be doing what they’re supposed to be doing. But Portia came up with a couple of interesting tidbits—”

  A seagull’s bony beak snatched a chunk of my fish and lifted away at the same moment that Marsh’s snapped a fingertip at its breast. It screeched and flapped wildly, stalling in mid-air above our table for a moment, before regaining its composure and veering away.

  “Least he won’t be back any time soon,” Marsh said.

  “I wonder if Bo will still make me pay?” I said, hoping for a break from my friend and the owner of this fine establishment.

  “Likely. So Portia hacked their personnel files, and it turns out that little Christopher has volunteered there on and off for several years. And Sarah is also on the list of volunteers. Looks like she’s been spending some free time there for the past year or so.”

  “Now that is interesting.”

  “And since you know how I feel about coincidences, I’d say we need to take a good, hard look at the young Wambaugh.”

  When it came to crime, or evil, or unethical behavior, Marsh didn’t put much stock in chance. He believed that a preponderance, or even sometimes a modicum, of circumstantial evidence was usually enough to convict, damn the legal system.

  “In this case, I agree.”

  “And that’s not all. Although they’ve tried to bury the news, the Children’s Network was sued several years back by two kids who stayed there. They claimed physical and sexual abuse. The charges were eventually dismissed and the boys’ stories discredited, but still.”

  “Was Christopher volunteering there at the time?”

  “Unclear. Portia is sifting through the records, and she’s trying to see if she can locate any internal or secret documents or settlement papers regarding the child abuse cases. I’ve got her plate pretty full, but I’ll tell her to focus on this today.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We should find out who else knew you were working for Mrs. Wambaugh and investigating Sarah Swan.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you think that it’s just a coincidence that someone tried to kill her the night you happened to visit the Black Canary for the first time?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “That’s why you need me.”

  “So the killer wanted me there? That doesn’t make—”

  “Probably not. More likely, your involvement panicked somebody. They didn’t want you talking to Sarah. So they decided to get rid of her. I’d imagine they wanted to do it before you showed up, but since you were so quick about it...”

  “I don’t know. It’s a leap.”

  “Less of a leap than swallowing the idea that your presence and the shooting were mere happenstance.”

  I knew he was right. And his information about the link between Christopher and Sarah and the Children’s Network was disturbing.

  “I guess we’d better find Christopher and have a heart-to-heart.”

  “Mom’s not going to like it.”

  “I think it’s going to be awfully hard to please Mom any way you look at it, so I don’t expect to try.”

  “Wow.”

  “Mom spelled upside down.”

  “Precisely.”

  Nine

  I was at Alexandra’s house in Pacific Heights waiting for Frankie to come home from the movies when Phoebe finally returned my call.

 

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