Telegraph Hill (16 page)

Chapter 27

Ray walked back to Antonio’s house on Kearny
Street. The streets were busy now: last night’s drunks hunting for a morning
omelet; elderly Chinese women collecting cans from trash barrels; skinny
joggers blowing out their knees on the steep hillsides. The scent of grilled
chicken and lemon at Il Pollaio almost derailed him on Columbus, but he
soldiered on.

He entered the house, and saw Tania sitting on a
leather sofa. He stared for a moment at her body. She had a natural grace that
was evident even in repose. She was curled comfortably into the fabric, her
cinnamon skin lighter against the dark leather chair. She was reading a book
about old Hollywood westerns, one of Antonio’s consuming passions.

“How are you? You look rested.”

“Yes, I needed to sleep. Where were you?”

“Finishing up some research. On the client.” He
sighed. “Which is often the most important work you do.” Tania put her book
down. Ray went to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and returned to the living
room. “I spoke with Lucas last night. I thought I knew him—at least I knew of
his reputation in Boston. But I found out this morning that Lucas worked as a
criminal defense lawyer in San Francisco during the 1950s and 1960s. One of his
clients was a Black Fist member named Ralph Chen.”

“I know him. “Tania said.

“How?”

“Well, I know of him. He’s now a boss of the
snakeheads. He started the Mexican pipeline, running Chinese immigrants into
the U.S. from Mexico. That’s how a lot of girls made it into the U.S. Take a
boat to Mexico, and then walk across the border.”

“How do you know this?’

“He knew many of the girls. He lives in the East
Bay. Lots of girls have been to his place. He’s pale and fat for a Chinese man.
Like a big scallop. He talks about his work all the time.”

Ray said, “Well, I don’t think it’s just a
coincidence that Lucas represented Chen, and now he just happens to be looking
for you. You don’t just stop representing these guys. Once you’re accepted into
the inner circle, you tend to get involved for the long haul. Whether you want
to or not.”

Tania sighed. “Well, what do we do now? First you
appear, then Moon, and then I almost get killed by those guys yesterday. And
now you’re saying this lawyer probably hired the guys who tried to kill me? My
life’s coming apart since you came here. I know you didn’t—“

“Tania, you lived like a caged animal,” he said.
“How long were you going to hide out with the new age fraud at Ashtanga?”

“She’s not a fraud.”

“No, I liked her actually. But you weren’t safe
there for long. I found you easily. After just a few days of work.” He paused.
“I need to think about this meeting with Lucas.” Ray walked out of the room.

* * *

Tania walked back inside her room. She checked the
hallway and shut the door. Then she slumped into a cushioned chair, put her
head back. She was frustrated with Ray. Who the hell was he, turning her
hideout into a battle zone? If she had not been completely happy, then at least
she was working to get there.

Still, she admired what he had done. And she had
to admit: he was partly right. How long was she going to work in the yoga
center kitchen, baking breads for the yoga enthusiasts, keeping out of the
light like a cockroach? She was just existing up there. Except for a few brief
early morning trips, she realized she had not left the center grounds for over
ten days. In her heart, she knew that her time in Marin was not going to last
long.

She felt exposed. But Ray's interference also made
her feel furious and alive. She peered out at the Golden Gate Bridge, fog
billowing beneath the bridge supports. She understood now that she was a
darting obsession to them, someone worth thinking about. Someone worth killing.
Her time running had not changed anything. She had misjudged her importance to
them. All those men, after all, had been at Ashtanga yesterday morning for the
sole purpose of executing her. And she escaped because of a stranger's
intervention. She pictured again the men she had seen killed. The green silence
of the hills fractured by gunshots. The bump as the tires rolled over the body.
She wondered again about Moon, about the other people at the yoga center.

She had run. But they had found her again. She
tried to plan and her thoughts were borne back to her old life. The painful
memory returned, that day when she left. A country removed, one full of color,
deep red, somber, her old home in Hong Kong, the windows looking over the bay.
A young girl basking in the adoration of a loving father. Her father had been a
businessman, head of a computer hardware wholesaler that sold cheap Korean-made
hard drives to overseas dealers. He had grown up bone-poor in Shanghai—“the
city of true Chinese” he told her—and he kept the friendships of his youth,
installing many of his friends in high positions. He lived hard, allowing a
seamy side of the business to flourish along with legitimate ventures,
gray-market and counterfeit goods that were funneled through various companies
by his friends, all of them longtime triad members. Tania's mother, his first
love, became ill and died shortly after Tania was born. He later married for a
second time, a Hong Kong beauty, Victoria Chang, a marriage that her
politically connected family received coolly. Tania had never been close with
her father's second wife. She thought the two of them showed little emotional
love, but there was something that drew them together. She could never figure
it out, some hard, flinty agreement she could never decipher. He spent little
time with his second wife Victoria, who spent most of her time in the U.S., but
he lavished attention on Tania. In return, she gave him the gift of her
youthful exuberance, and her pride at being his daughter.

Her father’s sudden death dropped a black shroud
on her happiness. For a year, she grieved. She noticed little of events around
her, the cold paper hustle of moving a dead man’s earthly belongings through
the courts. Victoria Chang was appointed executrix of his estate. She was
efficient, uncompromising. Never talkative about her family or origins, she
controlled her husband’s finances and began to invest those funds in Hong Kong
businesses, most notably a series of subsidiaries of a company called the
Pan-Pacific Trading Company. Victoria told Tania that the family investments in
Pan-Pacific were safe: they were handled by relatives who were experienced
businessmen.

In the months after her father’s death, various
businessmen arrived to meet with Victoria and her assistants. One evening,
Tania was instructed to meet Victoria in the study, her favorite room in the
house. Her father had assembled a wonderful collection of books on
architecture, poetry, literature, and history. Burgundy walls, oak paneling,
the scent of old paper—a room of dusty comforts.

Victoria sat behind the desk. A small lamp shone a
yellow cone on the brown wood. Victoria fingered a large white envelope and
wore an aggrieved look on her face.

Sitting to one side were two Chinese men Tania had
seen on several occasions. One man had a dark, narrow face tapered like an ax,
with long, fine hands. His long frame covered in an expensive wool suit. The
other, thick and flush with years of hard drinking, was dressed in a gray
herringbone jacket which emphasized his belly fat. He scanned papers from his
briefcase.

Victoria made introductions. “Mr. Chu, this is my
daughter.” The tall man nodded, bowed slightly. “Mr. Deng.” The fat man barely
acknowledged her.

“As you know, I am the executrix for your father’s
estate. With some assistance, we have completed the review of legal issues
relating to the estate distribution. I had hoped the news would be better. But
the estate faces serious problems.”

Victoria leaned toward at Tania. “Your father has
left us in difficult circumstances, Tania. Although this may come as a surprise
to you, your father was a gambler. And he has left us with considerable debts.”

Tania shifted to interrupt, but Victoria raised
her hand.

“Please allow me a moment to explain. We have
debts, Tania, debts that your father’s estate must meet. Debts to people who do
not expect to be kept waiting. There is no other way. Gambling is a disease. A
disease that hurts many people, many families. We cannot claim that we are
being treated unfairly. As is customary, both the assets and debts of the
deceased pass through the estate to the heirs. In this case, we inherit only
debts. The debts of your father. And my husband.”

Tania felt her stomach knot and her breath
tighten. “I cannot believe that my father owes money to anyone.” The men threw
her a lazy glance.

“The debts are real,” replied Victoria. “Now we
are called to answer for those debts. With my advisors—she gestured to the two
men—we outlined a plan whereby the assets, about $37.2 million worth of real
property and stock, will pass to a Hong Kong-based investment corporation. And
in time, with wise management, the debts will be paid out of the managed money.
We will also realize income after the debts are paid.”

“Do we have some proof of these debts?” asked
Tania. She had never seen any sign that her father gambled. “It’s not like
him.”

“Gamblers don’t get receipts, Tania,” said
Victoria.

“Then I don’t believe it.”

The tall man Victoria had called Mr. Chu moved to
the wall where a Japanese katana sword hung. The blade shimmered below a wood
handle wrapped in cord. The sword had been presented to Tania’s father by one
his oldest friends.

Victoria stood up. “I also demanded that an audit
take place. I’m not sure we have much choice at this point. We need to process
the sale of several properties immediately.”

The tall man lifted the sword from its hanger, and
walked across the room. The steely sharpness glittered in the faint light. He
studied the weapon, intensely interested in the blade. He tested the edge with
a fingertip.

Tania felt a warm breath over her shoulder, a
sudden heaviness as the other man, Deng, leaned forward, pressing her down with
his bulk. She cried out. Hands gripped her right hand, pulled it out. Pressed
it forcefully to the table, splayed the fingers out. She was gasping for
breath, but any movement was impossible.

She heard Victoria’s voice. “I don’t think that is
necessary,” she said. “Tania, we need to sign certain documents today and these
problems will pass. These are harsh people. We can all move on.” Tania wondered
at Victoria’s calmness.

Mr. Deng continued to push his bulk into her. The
lights were dim and she smelled sweat and stale food on the chunky man’s
breath. In front of her, Mr. Chu tapped the table lightly with the sword,
swirled it as if he were writing with a giant pen.

“The estate is not sufficient to cover the money
your father owed. We have to transfer the funds today. Tania, you are young. An
agency run by the creditors in San Francisco will assist you in finding work.
You leave tomorrow. They have arranged a plane. They ask that no inquiries be
made about the finances. We have no other options, Tania.”

Her back was hurting. She scrambled for a way to
defy the crude demands of these men. She would talk to someone, there were
people, lawyers her father had known, who could help.

Victoria added, “If we can resolve this today,
they have told me that your sister will be left out of this problem.”

Something reptilian and cold shot through her gut.
Victoria opened the envelope that had been lying on her desk, dumping the
contents on the desk in front Tania. Plane tickets and an itinerary. Cash in
rubber bands, as well as a notebook. There were also several photographs.
Victoria slid the photographs towards Tania, fanning them out like a deck of
playing cards.

“I saw these just one hour ago. They told me these
were taken yesterday in Shanghai.”

Tania picked up a photo and saw her half-sister,
Lin. They looked like recent photos. Lin held two plastic bags of groceries as
she walked down Siping Road in the Hongkou District, probably after shopping
for fresh shrimp at a small market she loved. Lin had called her that night,
and spoke about the dinner she was cooking. The next photo showed the faded
sign of the movie theater next to the apartment where she lived. A third photo
showed Lin wearing a red hat, sitting at a café and sipping tea on a leisurely
afternoon.

In each photo, her sister was clearly oblivious of
the photographer. No shadow of concern darkened her face. She was blind to the
watcher, just living. Tania craned her neck and looked at each photo again.
Lin’s fragile life, no longer secure in the anonymous city, but pinned and
squirming in front of Tania like a butterfly in an entomological display. Both
she and her sister without family or means. Both vulnerable to the specter of
sudden violence.

The tall man moved to Tania, the sword gripped
with offhanded elegance. He spoke in a low voice. “None of this is your fault.
Honor your father’s memory. Honor your ancestors.” He named casinos where her
father had bankrupted himself, businesses that were owed funds, restaurants and
nightclubs where he had run exorbitant tabs. Victoria sat impassively at the
desk, while they beat Tania down with misdirection and innuendo. “Let’s take
care of this today, forever,” the tall man said. “And then you start on the
path to a new tranquility.”

Tania listened to the words, unbelieving, the edge
of her focus worn away. Her mouth was dry. Her wrists hurt. She felt terribly
alone then, and a black mood descended. Her sister at the café, oblivious. A
deep sob erupted from inside, the shame of it, all this in her own father’s
house. A daughter’s love for her father, purest on earth.

“Honor your father,” the fat man repeated. His
sickly-sweet odor, the waxy light behind the desk. Victoria sat in the shadows,
her hands illuminated.