Restless Waters (20 page)

“Hey! Not so hard,” Vinnie protested as I firmly gripped his hand.

What a wuss.

One tetanus shot later, I was nearly as good as new. At least that’s what Doc No-name told me.

“Here. And take these,” he said, handing me a bottle of amoxicillin.

How convenient. I didn’t even need a prescription.

Vinnie paid him for his trouble and we got back into the Lincoln and hit the road.

“You know, I wasn’t jerking you around before. I really don’t know who iced Yakimov,” Little Italy disclosed. “Anyway, you never told me what
you
were doing there today.”

“Same old, same old,” I coolly lied. “I was just following up on those chameleon sales. How about you? Why did
you
stop by?

“Same old, same old,” Vinnie responded, in blatant imitation. “I’m trying to track down the damn money that Yakimov owes my boss. I gotta find it soon, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“What about that big fish you mentioned the other day?
You know, the one that Stas supposedly had on his hook? Any idea who it might be?” I questioned, trying to be of help.

“That’s what I went there to find out,” Vinnie acknowledged.

We remained silent for a moment and then looked at each other, knowing what had to be done. Vinnie didn’t stop to get my vehicle but continued on, aware there were more pressing matters to be dealt with first.

Perhaps the intruder hadn’t intended to simply kill Stas, but had also been searching for something. If so, it was vital that we find it before he had a chance to return—or the police got involved. We headed straight for Yakimov’s house.

A
ll was quiet, as before. The only difference was knowing that Yakimov lay on the floor like a gutted fish.

“Why don’t we divvy this up? That way, if there’s something to be found, we might come across it faster,” Little Italy suggested.

I agreed, being that it made perfect sense.

“I thought I’d start in there,” Vinnie said, with a nod toward Yakimov’s office. “How about you take the bedroom?”

“Wait a minute. Why don’t
you
take the bedroom?” I protested. The only thing I didn’t add was
I got here first
.

“For chrissakes, do we really have to argue about this?” he asked, beginning to look embarrassed.

I stared at him without saying a word.

“Okay, here’s the God’s honest truth. I’m not all that crazy about dead bodies. They kinda give me the heebie jeebies,” Vinnie admitted.

I understood that. On the other hand, there was a lot that could be learned from them. It’s where most deep, dark things tend to be hidden.

“Yeah, okay. But we share whatever information we find. Agreed?” I proposed.

“Absolutely. You got my word on it,” Vinnie confirmed.

I reached into my purse, as Vinnie stuck a hand in his pocket, and we each pulled out a pair of latex gloves.

“I see you came prepared,” I noted dryly.

“Yeah. I’m a goddamn Boy Scout. Personally, I never leave home without them,” he replied, slipping on the gloves with the ease of a surgeon.

Vinnie headed for the office, and I walked into the bedroom. I tried not to look at Yakimov, but it was nearly impossible. A lot of good all of his muscles and steroids had done him. However, truly unnerving was that he seemed to stare at me where ever I moved.

I turned my back to Yakimov and began to rummage through the open drawers of his bureau, though most of its contents were already on the floor.

I may be a slob, but there are certain things that bother me. I can’t stand sleeping in an unmade bed, I always close closet doors—you never know where the boogie man might lurk—and partially open drawers drive me crazy.

I began to close each drawer now. However, there was one that was stuck. Something was jammed tight against its runner. The only solution was to reach in and remove whatever it might be.

I pulled out the drawer, knelt down and took a look inside the bureau. There it was: A large manila envelope had fallen behind and become lodged against the back wall. I reached in and removed an envelope that was partially torn and crumpled.

Its contents were a thick stack of papers that appeared to be legal documents of some sort. I realized they were articles of ownership for a number of different restaurants both in Hong Kong and in mainland China. All were listed under the umbrella of Magic Dragon Chinese Restaurants Incorporated.

A quick look through the pages revealed that each
restaurant listed the same exact group of officers. They included a G. C. Leung and S. M. Ting. Something struck me as peculiar, and I realized what it was. Leung and Ting were two of the names that had appeared on Sammy’s doodle of a shark.

I didn’t care how many Leungs and Tings there might be in Oahu. This was definitely too unusual to be a mere coincidence. I rolled up the papers and stuffed them in my bag.

There was one last item left inside the envelope. It was a business card for a company called Magic Dragon Medicinals. The tagline read,
DISTRIBUTOR OF HEALTH AND VITALITY PRODUCTS
.

I interpreted that to mean, “We sell shark fin, rhino horn, bear gallbladder, and lots of other animal parts to keep you potent and feeling young.”

It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that they were also selling black-market Viagra. Come to think of it, Vinnie Bertucci could very well be in cahoots with them.

Magic Dragon Medicinals and Magic Dragon Chinese Restaurants were clearly interconnected in some way. Both companies had the same name, were based in Hong Kong, and had been of interest to Stas Yakimov.

“How’s it goin’ in there?” Vinnie called to me from the other room.

I slipped the card into my pocket and walked out to meet him.

“Pretty much as I expected,” I replied, wondering if Vinnie had found anything of interest. There was nothing in sight. If so, he’d decided to keep it well hidden.

“What does that mean? Did you come up with anything or not?” he asked impatiently, dismembering a fingernail with his front teeth.

I noticed that he didn’t spit it on the floor, but slid the sliver of nail into his pocket.

“Not really. How about you?” I responded, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt.

“Nope. Not a thing.”

Call me crazy, but Vinnie reminded me of the cat that ate the canary. All that was missing were the feathers sticking out of his mouth. Little Italy narrowed his eyes, and seemed to regard me with the same sense of suspicion.

“Okay then. In that case, we should probably get out of here,” he advised.

We left as we came, removing all signs of our presence. Climbing into his Lincoln, we headed back down the street to fetch my vehicle.

We both remained silent, as if afraid that the least hint of sound would put a tear in our resistance. But the urge to speak continued to build inside me. I felt as if I were smuggling nuclear secrets out of the country, the papers nearly burning a hole in my bag. It was Vinnie that finally broke the deadlock.

“Okay. Enough with the bullshit, already. Who do you think you’re kiddin’ here? We both know that we each found something. So what say we lay our cards on the table and reveal exactly what it is?” he proposed.

Damn, but he was good at this. Vinnie pulled a white envelope from beneath his shirt that was boldly marked
CONFIDENTIAL
.

“You show me yours, and then you get this,” Bertucci bartered.

My fingers itched to snatch the envelope from him. Maybe it contained something. Then again, maybe it didn’t. There was only one way I’d ever find out. Besides, I’ve always been the kind of gal who rarely bets when the stakes are low, but gambles the house and goes for broke. I figured it was worth a shot.

“Here. You might be interested in this,” I said, removing the Magic Dragon Medicinal card from my pocket.

Vinnie seized it from my fingers.

“Distributors for health and vitality products, huh?” he grunted. Whadda ya think? Maybe they’re selling erector pills to help guys launch their own personal-sized rockets?”

“Yeah, it could be that they’re offering bootlegged Viagra,” I responded.

“Yakimov might of had some kind of secret deal going on with these bums. For all I know, he coulda been supplying them with pills from our stash and pocketing the profits. That would explain where the money went.”

“Anything’s possible,” I agreed.

Vinnie snorted in disgust. “Terrific. A helluva lotta good this does me. The damn place is in friggin’ Hong Kong. What am I supposed to do? Catch a plane over there? I gotta find the guy that’s here on
this
end.”

I was well aware that Vinnie bordered on being computer illiterate.

“Tell you what. I’ll check this company on the Internet and see what I can find out,” I offered. “Now it’s your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“I don’t know if these will be of any help with your lizards, but it must have been important to Yakimov.”

I tried to take the envelope from him, but Vinnie held it just out of reach.

“Of course, if it has anything to do with Viagra, you gotta tell me about that also,” he insisted.

“I wouldn’t dream of withholding information from you,” I assured him.

Vinnie handed me the envelope, and I plucked out two business cards. One was for Tat Hing Products, and the other for Africa Hydraulics. Both of these companies also were based in Hong Kong. The second card produced the same sensation I’d experienced earlier—the strong feeling that I’d seen this name somewhere before. Then a sickening feeling set in as things began to click together.

A former boss, Charlie Hickok, used to brag about taking part in major sting operations during the “good old days” of Fish and Wildlife. Naturally, there’d always been those Moby Dicks that had gotten away. Africa Hydraulics had been one of them.

They were a front company that smuggled and laundered vast quantities of elephant ivory from East Africa through the United Arab Emirates, and on into Hong Kong in the 1980s. Africa Hydraulics had been notorious as the main mover and shaker of the international ivory trade. They were believed to be responsible for having decimated a large portion of the elephant population.

That’s when another chip fell into place. The owner of Africa Hydraulics had been a man by the name of George Leung. Was it possible that the same greedy people were now involved in the shark-fin trade? Just the thought of it sent me reeling. If so, I already knew what to expect—the consequences for sharks would be no less devastating.

Leung nearly managed to wipe out elephants, not stopping until international law had finally clamped down. He’d do the same thing when it came to sharks, slaughtering them until no more were left. I blinked back tears of rage and frustration, realizing what I was possibly up against.

“Did you find anything else?” I grimly questioned.

Vinnie glanced at me, his eyebrows arching, as if wondering what was wrong.

“That’s it,” he responded, and then stared straight ahead.

Damn, I felt certain that he was holding something back. But there was no time to find out, as he pulled into the lot and parked next to my Explorer.

“Okay, New Yawk. This is where you get out.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I questioned.

Vinnie looked at me with a strange expression.

“How about my gun?” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Just be careful with that thing. It’ll get you in big trouble. Also, remember to check out that Magic Dragon shit and get back to me pronto,” he ordered.

What in hell did he think? That he’d suddenly become my personal Godfather? I bristled, but said nothing. Instead, I watched as he drove off. Then I searched for the nearest pay phone and placed a call to the local police.

“I want to report a homicide at 85 Hyacinth Street in Nanakuli,” I informed the desk duty officer.

“Oh, you do, do you?” he cynically bantered, as if used to such practical jokes. “And just who is this?”

“Who is
this
?” I countered.

“Desk Sergeant Hammel,” the officer brusquely responded.

“Well, Sergeant Hammel, this is no joke. I suggest you get someone over to that address pronto,” I said, and immediately hung up.

Then I phoned the best animal shelter that I knew of on Oahu.

“There’s a crime scene at 85 Hyacinth Street in Nanakuli, and a number of pit bulls are in need of temporary shelter. The police are already on their way over,” I disclosed.

“Exactly how many dogs are you talking about?” the female voice on the other end of the line inquired.

I counted the snarling canines, one by one, in my head. “I believe there are five in total.”

“All right. I think we can handle that. I’ll just need your name, address and phone number, please,” the woman briskly advised.

“Sorry, but I can’t give that information out at this time.”

There was a moment of silence before she replied.

“I understand. Thanks for letting us know about the dogs. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them.”

“Um, one more thing. There’s also a mountain lion,” I added.

“You are joking, right?” the voice sternly cross-examined.

“No. I’m afraid I’m deadly serious,” I answered. “I’ve heard there’s a big-cat specialist somewhere on the island. Do you think that she could possibly house the cougar for now?”

The woman sighed. “I know who it is. I’ll contact her, if you like.”

“That would be terrific. Thanks again,” I said and hung up, with one less concern on my mind.

Then I slipped into my Ford and sat there for a while, not yet ready to go home, but unsure of exactly what to do next. The one thing I didn’t want to think about was Yakimov, and how he’d looked lying on his bedroom floor. But the image had become permanently seared into my head.

Whoever had done the deed was frighteningly proficient with a knife. Stas had been cut to induce the maximum amount of pain. I realized I was gripping the steering wheel with all my might, the day’s tension having lodged in each of my ten little fingers. Only by now, it had become night.

My thoughts drifted as I sat in the dark and watched the locals cruise in and out of the mom-and-pop shop. I was curious as to whether Sammy had ever been here. Funny, how we’d first met. I’d never have gone to the docks if it hadn’t been for the body found floating near the pier that day. In a sense, Charlie Hong had set the chain of events that followed into motion. Strange what a dead man
could do. I wondered if he’d been nearly as influential in life as he’d become in death.

Sammy believed that he’d been knocked off by another fin dealer. If so, Hong must have been powerful enough to present some kind of threat.

I racked my brain as I tried to remember the name of his company. I finally gave up, and simply listened to the distant sound of the Pacific Ocean at my back.

That was it! Hong’s business had been called Pacific Catch Products. It was also the one spot where I hadn’t yet thought to look.

The police had written off Charlie Hong’s death as a suicide. As it turned out, that worked perfectly for me. It meant they wouldn’t have scoured his place, and there might still be something left to find.

I picked up my cell phone, called information, and got the address. What do you know? Pacific Catch Products was located at Pier 33 on the Honolulu docks. I turned on the Ford’s engine and sped there now, no longer caring about the dull pain that throbbed in my arm.

If the docks seemed like a different world during the day, at night they became downright lurid. Longliners still filled the piers, where they bobbed like toy boats in a bathtub. But the evening brought into play another type of fishing as well. Sailors were now joined by a colorful parade of hookers.