Restless Waters (24 page)

Perhaps he’d tried to document what he’d found at the docks the night before he died. If so, this could very well be the evidence that he’d brought along to Ka’ena Point.

I suddenly felt deathly cold and glanced around, wondering if his ghost was anywhere in sight. But there was no sign of Sammy. Instead, Senator Shirley Chang’s image continued to glare up at me.

It was true. Chang had her fingers deep into every facet of the Hawaiian fishing industry, and pulled whatever strings were necessary. However, these pictures im
plied that a U.S. senator was embroiled in the illegal shark-fin trade. It was an accusation that would be difficult to prove, regardless of photographs. I needed more concrete evidence, along with a good reason as to why she was involved.

I continued to stare at Chang’s image, as if it might telepathically provide the information. A closer look revealed that her hair was stylishly coifed, and she wore makeup even when visiting a dingy warehouse. I also noticed that her clothes weren’t the beat-up jeans, polo shirts, and sneakers that I normally donned, but expensively tailored and chic garments.

The senator was probably a vain woman. She also loved to see stories about herself and all her good works in print. Maybe that was her Achilles’ heel. I asked myself, why bother to skulk around, trying to uncover information, when I could go straight to the source? I pulled out my cell phone and morphed into Lois Lane, girl reporter.

“Senator Chang’s office,” a female voice pleasantly answered the phone.

“Hello. This is Rebecca Whiting. I’m a reporter with the
Honolulu Bulletin
, and we’re planning to run a feature on all the things that Senator Chang has done for the state,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“Oh, how wonderful. The senator will be so pleased,” the woman said, sounding truly delighted.

“However, this is also a human-interest piece. Would Senator Chang possibly have a few minutes available to answer one or two questions?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, but the senator is visiting the mainland for a couple of weeks. However, I’m her secretary, and would be happy to set up an appointment for when she returns,” her employee responded.

“That’s all right. I’ll try her at the office in D.C.” I
replied, impatient to learn whatever I could right now.

“That won’t do any good. The senator is on vacation and out of reach. By the way, I know almost everyone at the paper. Your name doesn’t sound familiar. What did you say was it again?” her secretary inquired.

“Rebecca,” I answered, purposely leaving off the last name. “I’m new at the
Bulletin
. That’s why I’m so anxious to get started on this profile. I’m sorry. I should have asked your name as well.”

“It’s Christy,” she said, in a friendly tone.

“Well Christy, I know how much everyone appreciates what the senator has done for Hawaii. Gee, I’d love to get started on this story right away. Do you suppose you could possibly answer a few simple questions for her?” I plaintively asked.

“I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll certainly give it a shot,” she agreed, willing to try.

“Maybe you can tell me a little about the senator’s childhood,” I suggested. “Such as, where did she grow up?”

“Senator Chang was raised right here in Hawaii,” came the snappy response, as proudly as if it were a badge of honor.

“And what about her parents? Were they born here, also?” I prodded.

“Her mother was, but her father originally came from Hong Kong,” Christy replied.

“Really? Does she still have family over there?” I asked, intrigued by her answer.

“Now that you mention it, I seem to remember hearing that her brother works for some sort of company in Hong Kong,” she revealed.

My adrenaline kicked into gear, telling me that I was on the right track.

“Oops. There’s another call coming in. I really need to go,” Christy said.

“Just one last question,” I pleaded. “Is Chang the senator’s maiden name?”

“No. Her full maiden name would be Shirley Marie Ting. Sorry, but we’re going to have to talk another time,” she anxiously told me, and got off the phone.

I barely heard her hang up. My mind was somewhere else, furiously racing a mile a minute. Ting had been one of the three names scribbled on that piece of paper inside Sammy’s shoebox, along with those of Leung and Yakimov. It had also been on the document I’d found at Stas’s house. S. M. Ting and G. C. Leung had been listed as two of the officers for Magic Dragon Restaurants, Inc.

My heart sped up, keeping pace with my brain, as I now began to put two and two together. Clues were pointing to the fact that Senator Chang, formerly Shirley Marie Ting, was in business with the Leungs. Yakimov probably knew about this, and must have been blackmailing either the senator, Leung, or possibly both. Most likely, that’s what had led to Stas’s death.

I jumped, caught off guard when my cell phone rang. Sometimes I hated the damn thing. In addition, I wasn’t yet willing to admit that last night’s phone call had unnerved me.

“Hello?” I warily answered, wondering if Christy had caller ID. Perhaps she was phoning back to find out my true identity.

“I got the shit kicked out of me last night, and I want you to do something about it!” Rasta Boy irately demanded.

I was almost relieved to hear the sound of his whiny voice. But if he expected any aid, he’d have to get in line behind Pryor and his damn tree snakes. In fact, I was tempted to give Dwayne’s attacker a medal of honor.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve asking for my help. As I recall, you almost got me killed after our last meeting,” I replied.

“What are you talking about?” he shrieked in my ear. “I’m your golden boy, your informant. Remember?”

“What I remember is that you set me up to be attacked by Yakimov’s dogs,” I reminded him.

There was a moment of silence, during which I could almost hear Dwayne’s brain cells popping as he tried to figure out his next move.

“Aw, come on. You can take a joke, can’t you, Porter? I knew you’d be able to handle a couple of dogs, no sweat. No harm done, right?” he asked, attempting to smooth things over.

I sighed, knowing it was useless to expect any kind of apology.

“Do you know who attacked you?” I asked.

“Yeah. Some big-ass ugly dude from New York, with enough glop on his hair to start a grease fire. He said that Stas had been killed and I’d be next, unless I told him what he wanted to know. I’ve been trying to call Yakimov ever since, but the lunkhead won’t answer his phone.”

There was a pause, as if Dwayne was afraid to ask the question. “Is it true? Is Stas really dead?” he inquired, with a note of desperation in his voice.

“Yes. He was killed yesterday,” I confirmed.

“That’s it! I want federal protection right now,” Dwayne wailed into the telephone.

“Calm down and tell me exactly what this man wanted,” I instructed, already aware that his attacker must have been Vinnie.

“Who the hell knows? All he kept blabbering on about was Viagra. Friggin’ Viagra. Shit. I told him I could get hold of a coupla hot babes who’d make him forget that he’d ever needed the stuff. But the guy’s a complete drug freak,” Dwayne insisted.

I figured it took one to know one.

“What did you tell him?” I pressed.

“That I didn’t have any idea what the hell he was talking about. That’s when he began wailing on me like his own private punching bag.”

I actually felt bad Vinnie had beat him up, but was relieved to hear that Dwayne hadn’t told him anything.

“Then after rearranging my face, this moron wants to know who Stas has been dealing with besides pet stores,” Dwayne continued. “Like, he couldn’t have asked me that in the first place? I told him the only guy I knew was some Chinese dude by the name of Michael Leung.”

Damn it!

“One more thing. Do you have any idea how this guy managed to hunt you down?” I asked, having purposely made sure not to give Vinnie his name.

“Yeah. Stas had me listed as an employee in his address book. This goon must have lifted it when he went to Yakimov’s house,” Dwayne revealed.

So
that’s
what Vinnie had found and not told me about. A searing pain shot through my stomach with the realization that he’d also be able to find Michael Leung. I needed to reach Vinnie immediately and try to steer him off track.

“We’ll talk more later. I have to go now,” I told him.

“Hey, wait a minute, bitch! How am I supposed to work as a beachboy with two black eyes, a broken nose, and a fat lip?” Rasta Boy angrily demanded.

It was nice to know that some things never change.

“Don’t worry. It’ll make you stand out from all of the other pretty boys,” I said by way of consolation, and hung up.

Then I phoned Vinnie’s hotel, only to be informed he’d left a message that he wasn’t to be disturbed. That had to mean he was still in his room. I decided the smart thing to
do was to pay him a visit. I stashed the photos in my Explorer and gunned the engine, setting course for Vinnie’s digs in Honolulu.

I got as far as the freeway before slamming on my brakes and coming to a dead halt. This frigging island and it’s crazy bumper-to-bumper traffic! Rush hour seemed to run from 6
A.M
. until nine o’clock every night. What was with this place? I’d have taken a water buffalo over a car any day. I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, pretending it was a Tommy gun. If nothing else, it helped take my mind off the sharp, stabbing pain that had hold of my stomach.

I finally calmed down enough to collect my thoughts. I needed to buy time. There had to be a way to convince Vinnie that Leung wasn’t his Viagra connection. That would give me a chance to nab the guy myself.

My cell phone rang, momentarily taking me away from my task. It was probably Rasta Boy with another one of his demands.

“Hello?” I answered.

I was greeted by a voice that was a combination of raw gasoline, cheap booze, and gravel.

“Look at your watch and tell me what time it is,” Sharkfin Dave commanded, sounding like a human cement mixer.

Great. As if the traffic weren’t enough, I was now being treated like some down-and-out drunk’s Gal Friday. What did this guy think? That I was his own personal timekeeper?

I held back the sarcasm, and glanced at the clock in my car.

“It’s seven
P.M
.,” I responded, all the while inching up on a Volvo’s rear end.

Sharkfin Dave chuckled, as if at his own private joke. “I
just got word that the
Magic Dragon
will be coming in later on.”

“At night?” I asked, in surprise.

I’d always taken it for granted that fishing boats docked during the daytime.

“Sure. Any state boys assigned to the docks always vamoose by five o’clock, and there are only three National Marine Fisheries enforcement agents for the entire Hawaiian islands. Not that it matters. They’re rarely around here anyway.”

No wonder shark fins were streaming into Oahu on a steady basis. There wasn’t anything resembling a wall of law enforcement plaguing the smugglers.

“Yeah, night’s the perfect time to do whatever you want,” Sharkfin Dave continued. “What say you pick us up some Chink food and bring it out here with you? Get me some moo shu pork, beef fried rice, sweet-and-sour chicken, and a couple of eggrolls. It’s been days since I’ve had a good meal. Oh, yeah. And make sure you grab a bottle of booze while you’re at it.”

The pain in my stomach not only intensified, but also grew queasy. However, I wasn’t about to turn the man down. Not when I was faced with both Guam and Vinnie Bertucci as ticking time bombs.

“I’m stuck in traffic, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I responded, and hung up.

I
turned my attention back to crawling up every car’s rear end. No way was I going to be late and miss the biggest break that I might ever get in this case.

Pulling off the nearest exit, I stopped at the first Chinese restaurant that I found. Then I dashed into a grocery store for a container of Mylanta and hit a liquor store for a bottle of scotch. Soon I was back in my Explorer and battling traffic. Only now, I had some antacid to chug-a-lug.

I traveled along Nimitz Boulevard thinking about all that had taken place that day. So deep was I in thought that I nearly ran over a bum who jumped in front of my Ford. My stomach churned into action as I slammed on the brakes.

The bum was Sharkfin Dave, looking as suave as ever. Only tonight, he was wearing a T-shirt decorated with sharks. All had their jaws wide open and were chasing each other’s tails. How appropriate.

“What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you see me waving like a goddamn lunatic for you to stop?” he demanded, opening the passenger door.

“I didn’t expect to see you walking along the street,” I countered in my own defense.

“With the way you’re driving, no one is safe on the road,” he grumbled.

Sharkfin climbed inside and closed the door.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” I questioned. “Why aren’t you waiting for me down at the docks?”

“It’s just a couple of blocks from here, and I figured this was a safe place to meet. This way, we won’t be seen by anyone.”

Good thinking—all except for the forty or fifty other cars that were on the road.

I began to turn toward the piers, only to be stopped.

“Keep on going,” Sharkfin directed. “There’s a little park directly across from the docks. We can sit in the car and eat our food over there.”

He didn’t wait for our arrival, but dug into the bags and pulled out the scotch. Twisting off the cap, he up-ended the bottle, took a deep slug, and smacked his lips.

“Now that’s what I call a before-dinner nip,” he announced, and then pounced on the eggrolls.

My stomach protested, and I held my breath, trying to stave off the smell.

“Turn in here,” he ordered, leading me to an isolated area.

The park was deserted, but for my Ford. What it did provide was a killer view of the waterfront. Sharkfin Dave inhaled his food as I watched container ships slip in and out of port.

“None of those are the
Magic Dragon
, are they?” I anxiously questioned him, not wanting to miss my opportunity due to a carton of moo shu pork.

“Don’t get your panties all in a knot,” Sharkfin admonished. “It won’t be in for a while yet. Why don’t you relax and help me eat some of this stuff?”

I looked at the food and took another sip of Mylanta.

“Got an upset stomach, huh?” he responded.

“Yeah, something like that,” I replied, figuring it was probably the beginnings of an ulcer.

“Best thing for that is to take a nip of scotch,” he instructed.

What the hell. I took his advice. I was mid-gulp when my cell phone rang.

“Why don’t you turn that damn thing off?” Dave suggested, sullenly glaring at it.

Good idea. I didn’t need Santou calling to inquire where I was, and what I was doing.

Over and out,
I thought, and killed the phone for now.

Then I flicked on my flashlight and began to clean up Sharkfin’s mess. Its beam highlighted numerous scratches and teethmarks that festooned both his arms.

“How’d you get those?” I asked, pointing to them.

“Oh, they’re from handling shark fins and crap. Those fins are sharp as hell, especially when they’re dry, which is why it’s important to wear gloves. And that skin of theirs is tough as a mother. It’s a lotta work ripping those things off, even with a machete or knife,” Sharkfin divulged. “As for the teeth marks? Sharks can spin around on boat decks like damn rodeo broncos while you’re trying to cut the fins off of ’em. It’s just as well I’m not doing it anymore. That was fun when I was young, dumb, and full of come.”

Funny. He’d told me only last night that he’d been out catching sharks just a week ago.

“Nah, I haven’t been out on a finning expedition ever since it was outlawed,” he reiterated, as if reading my mind. “I was just Charlie Hong’s office manager.”

Bullshit. Those scratches appeared to be fairly fresh. Sharkfin Dave seemed to be setting things up to take any heat off himself.

He burped and picked a sliver of beef from between his teeth. “We should probably head back about now.”

I turned on the engine and pointed my Ford toward the
docks. Sharkfin guided the way to a distant pier, where we parked in the shadows. It was just about ten o’clock.

“I’ve never been on this pier before. Are you sure this is the right spot?” I said anxiously.

“Shh. Just take a look over there,” he muttered, and intently stared ahead.

I pulled a pair of binoculars from the backseat and followed his finger to its target.

There it was: the
Magic Dragon
. The boat was illuminated by a few dim lights.

Every ghost ship needs a crew. This had one, too. I watched as a man proceeded to slide a large bale of shark fins down along a ramp. They were tightly wired together in a four-by-four-foot bundle.

“That bale represents about two hundred dead sharks,” Dave related, as if narrating a film. “And it probably weighs anywhere between a hundred-twenty and two hundred pounds, depending on the size of those fins.”

I could think of little else at the moment other than making my own documentary. Grabbing my camera, I rapidly began to take pictures. The entire off-loading process was witnessed through my camera’s view finder and telephoto lens. The bundles were thrown onto a large wooden pallet as I proceeded to snap away.

“Are you getting a whiff of that?” Sharkfin asked, sniffing the air with the fervor of a crazed bloodhound.

“God, yes. It smells awful,” I replied, my stomach rock-and-rolling to the stench.

“That’s the ammonia inside them,” he explained. “Sharks will devour just about any damn thing.”

My shutter continued to click as a forklift raised the pallet and drove it to the back of a container. From there, a crew member grabbed hold of the bales with a gaffe and stacked them inside the truck. I watched as the procedure was repeated over and over, until the twenty-foot recepta
cle was finally filled and the cargo doors had slammed shut. After that, one of the men slapped on some sort of seal.

“What’s he doing?” I asked, not having the slightest idea.

“Putting a Customs tag on the container,” Sharkfin revealed, with a snicker.

“But tags are only supposed to be applied by a Customs agent after an official inspection has taken place,” I blurted out.

“No kidding? Well, how do you like that?” Dave sarcastically responded. “Leung’s a pretty smart guy, with good connections. He gets a bunch of those tags and has one put on each of his containers. That way, no one bothers to check inside if they’re ever stopped while driving back to his warehouse. Everything’s nice and official.”

I watched as the three crew members jumped into the truck and began to drive off. I quickly turned on the Ford’s ignition.

“Stay right here,” Sharkfin ordered.

“But aren’t we going to lose them?” I asked, in dismay.

“Don’t worry. I know where they’re going,” he responded.

We waited about five minutes before Sharkfin gave the okay. It felt as if my Ford didn’t need to be told, but drove straight to the warehouse area and parked in the same spot as last night. Then we got out and stood in front of the locked gate.

“You don’t happen to have a key to this thing, do you?” I inquired.

“Nah. Mikey’s hoping I’ll get locked out one night and won’t be able to make it back over with my bum leg.”

That’s what I was concerned about.

“And can you?” I asked.

“Just watch,” Sharkfin said, with a wink.

He scrambled up the wire fence with the proficiency of a monkey.

“Follow me and be quiet,” he instructed, as I landed with my camera on the other side.

I played hopscotch among the blood-tainted puddles as we drew closer to Leung’s warehouse. The container truck sat stolidly in front, having already been unpacked.

“There aren’t any windows in the building. How am I supposed to see what’s going on?” I complained, sorely tempted to crash their party.

“Like I said before, just stay with me and try to keep your yap shut,” Sharkfin commanded, and limped ahead.

It took all my self-control not to break into a giggle. Slap an eyepatch on him, and Sharkfin Dave would have been a real pirate.

I followed him around to the back of the warehouse.

“There’s your window,” he said, and pointed to one that was about ten feet off the ground.

Terrific. A lot of good that did me.

“What’s the matter? You got some kind of problem?” he asked with a grin.

“Yeah. How am I supposed to get up there?”

“Well, you don’t look like any kind of angel to me. So, I guess you’re going to need a ladder,” he astutely observed.

“And do you happen to have one handy?” I retorted cynically. I was just about ready to jump out of my skin. Who knew what was taking place in there by now?

“No. But Mikey does,” he said, and pointed to a ladder that lay like a snake in the grass.

A loud buzzing from inside masked any noise as we lifted the ladder and carefully placed it against the warehouse wall. Then I swiftly climbed up, not wanting to miss a thing.

The window stood slightly ajar. I realized why as the stench of ammonia sinuously wafted through and smacked me in the nose. The opening helped to air out the building.

I peered down at the spectacle below. All three men wore respirator masks to protect them from the fumes. One crew member was busy sorting the fins into piles while another worked at a table with a large bandsaw. It looked like a scene from
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
, only Hawaiian style, as shark body parts were fed beneath the rotating blade. The buzz of the saw severed the air, setting my nerves on edge, as excess meat was trimmed from the fins.

A third man lay the newly cleaned fins out on racks identical to those that had been in the pictures. In fact, the place looked exactly as it had in Sammy’s photographs, except for one thing: Senator Chang and Michael Leung were missing.

I tried to curtail my shooting so that I didn’t run out of film. But I found it hard to control myself. The men finally solved the problem for me. They stopped their work at 2
A.M
. and locked up for the night. Only then did I leave my perch and climb down to find Sharkfin Dave stretched out on the ground. He was snoring up a storm, sleeping off the bottle of scotch. I was just glad that the sound hadn’t tipped the men off.

“Hey, get up. Everyone’s gone,” I said, and roused him with my foot.

Sharkfin woke up, snorting like a startled pig.

“Great. Then I can go back to sleep. Nighty night,” he said and laid his head back down again.

“Not so fast,” I told him. “I want to sneak into the place.”

“Aw, what the hell for?” he protested. “You’ve been up there for hours. Haven’t you seen enough yet?”

“No. And after coming this far, it would be crazy to
leave without getting the pictures I need. But don’t worry. I know how to jimmy the lock,” I replied.

“A helluva lotta good that’ll do you. Leung’s been turning on the alarm ever since your friend broke in,” Sharkfin revealed.

A tsunami of pain rushed through my insides and gave a good twist, so that I flung my arms around my waist to keep from doubling over.

“You never told me it was definitely Sammy that broke into the building,” I gasped, hoping the discomfort would soon go away.

“That’s ’cause you never asked,” Sharkfin retorted. “All you wanted to know was if I’d spotted the kid.”

So that was how this game was being played.

“Did Leung catch him?” I shot back.

The pain retreated, and I wiped a trace of sweat from my brow.

“What do you think? Of course he did. Just not right then and there,” Dave answered with a sneer.

“Then
you
must have been the one who tipped off Leung,” I assumed, beginning to feel sick with suspicion.

I had no doubt that Sharkfin would sell me out in a New York minute.

“Of course not,” Dave demurred. “I already told you. I want to even the score for what he did to my boss. It’s just that Leung knows everything that goes on in this place.”

Sharkfin was definitely doing his best to scare me away. It only made me all the more determined to get inside the warehouse.

“I’ll take my chances,” I obstinately told him.

Sharkfin gazed at me, hacked up a spitball, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aw, what the hell. I know the code. I’ll shut the damn thing off for you.”

My own inner alarm system instantly kicked in. “Why would Leung trust you with information like that?”

“Well, I’m living here and don’t have a job. So Mikey’s paying me a couple of bucks to keep an eye on the place. He had to give me the code in case the damn thing went off. Pretty funny, huh? Turns out, I’m a dick just like you. And that’s exactly what I intend to do, is to guard this warehouse. Which means, I’ll stay out here and keep watch while you go inside and take a look around,” he said, with a wink.

I pulled a twenty from my pocket and gave it to him. It was all I had after paying for food and booze. I just hoped it would be enough to keep Sharkfin happy over the course of the next few minutes.

He snatched the bill from my fingers, muttered a thanks, and hobbled around to the front of the building. I followed to where a security pad was mounted next to the door. A solid red light on its face plainly warned away intruders. Sharkfin glanced about, as if checking to see that the coast was clear. Then he swiftly punched in four numbers. The red light immediately turned green, giving the okay.

“All right, go on in. Just don’t take too long,” Dave advised, as he unlocked the entrance. “And if you hear a knock, try to hide damn quick.”