The Chinese Jars (28 page)

“We know you're hiding something, Miss Dimitri,” said Charles.

“Prove it.”

“You can count on it. We'll be back.”

“You'll have to, in order to put everything in its place and clean my house, if you don't want me to sue you for abuse of authority,” she answered calmly.

“Try it, and let's see how far you get.”

* * *

Charles and the agents walked down the street to the place where Samuel had been waiting all morning. He'd already lost count of the number of cups of coffee he'd drunk.

“We didn't find a damn thing,” announced Charles, in a bad mood.

“Clam down. We haven't lost anything,” said Samuel.

“Nothing except my time!”

“You haven't lost it. Dimitri and her servant are scared and they will act soon. You didn't mention the passageway, right?”

“Of course not.”

“For sure that's where she'll go next,” smiled Samuel, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“How do we get access to that place?” asked Charles.

“I'll show you,” said Samuel. “We have to sneak back into the building. Was the guard there when you left?”

“I think so. But that's not a problem. He knows we searched the floor. Agent Reiss, go and distract the guard,” said Charles.

“How?” asked Reiss.

“However you please. Tell him you have to ask him some questions in private. Think of something, man, for chrissake.”

“Did you bring flashlights?” asked Samuel.

“Flashlights? Of course not. No one goes around with flashlights in broad daylight,” answered Charles.

“But I told you the passageways are dark!”

“You said there were light bulbs.”

“I turned them on with a switch when I was there yesterday, but I can't guarantee there's light today.

“I'll go and buy flashlights,” one of the agent's offered.

“No, I'd better go,” replied Samuel, thinking that a fed over six feet tall in a suit, dark glasses, and a hat buying a half a dozen flashlights wouldn't go unnoticed.

While the rest waited, drinking coffee and smoking, he quickly went to one of the tourist stores in the area. In the middle of countless plastic dolls, reproductions of the Golden Gate Bridge, fans, erotic carvings in fake ivory, and suitcases, he found what he was looking for. Twenty minutes later he was back at the café.

Reiss left to deal with the guard while another man was stationed near the café to watch the front entrance to the building. Charles Perkins took a look outside to check if there were any strange goings-on, but Chinatown was involved in its own affairs, indifferent, as usual. Nobody gave a second look at the group of four men crossing the street as if they were marching off to war. Samuel hoped that Virginia and Fu Fung Fat were very busy and wouldn't think of getting close to a window and looking out to see them arrive.

They entered the lobby at 838 and went straight to the basement, where Samuel found the door that led to the passageway. After closing the door, they climbed down the metal ladder into the bowels of Chinatown.

“This is a shitty place to wait for something to happen, and I hate to waste my valuable time. Cross your fingers that you're right,” said Charles, threatening him by pointing his finger, while he shined his flashlight on the assortment of overhead pipes covered with cobwebs filled with dead insects and at the wet ground splashed with puddles.

“Mr. Perkins, this place has rats,” exclaimed one of the agents.

“What did you expect, flowers?” replied the attorney.

“We have to be patient. She feels trapped, and this is her avenue of escape. She'll show up,” assured Samuel.

“Can we smoke?” asked one of the agents.

“I don't see why not. Too bad we didn't bring a picnic and sleeping bags,” the attorney joked.

“Let's try and not draw anybody's attention,” suggested Samuel.

“There's not a soul around here,” exclaimed Charles.

“That's what you think,” said Samuel.

* * *

They crouched near the ladder, where it was totally dark. A short distance away they could see the passageway very poorly lit by the bulbs that hung from the ceiling. A lone Chinese man trotted by in a hurry without seeing them. After that three others went by them, including a woman with a baby on her back; if the passersby saw them, they didn't seem surprised. Samuel supposed that even a few Westerners used the labyrinth.

“This looks like the subterranean superhighway through Chinatown,” whispered Charles.

“I would imagine that a lot of skullduggery goes on because of these passageways,” answered Samuel, thinking of the gambling den in the back of the Won Ton Café and the dozens of others like it that no doubt existed all over the neighborhood.

Finally, more than an hour later, the basement door to 838 opened, and Fu Fung Fat came onto the platform at the top of the ladder and peered into the darkness, still holding the door open with his shoulder without an arm. The men hidden by the ladder froze. Fu Fung Fat, sure that no one saw or heard him, backed into the basement and closed the door.

“He's testing the terrain. He'll return soon,” whispered Samuel.

Charles gave him a pat on the back. “The plan is bearing fruit,” he said, obviously relieved. “At least there's some action.”

Ten minutes later the door to the building opened again, and Fu Fung Fat reappeared dragging a large suitcase to the top of the landing. Behind him came Virginia Dimitri, dressed in black from head to toe, appropriate for discreet navigation of the underground highway, thought Samuel. She carried a suitcase, though it was half the size of the one her manservant was wrestling with.

Virginia tied a rope to the handle of the first suitcase, which seemed heavier, and she helped the servant let it down to the foot of the ladder, where it landed with a thud and stirred up dust. He then scurried down the ladder, with great agility considering he only had one arm. He untied the rope, and she pulled it up. She repeated the operation with the second suitcase, then they were both at the bottom with the baggage. They lingered a moment to let their eyes get accustomed to the darkness.

It was then that Charles made his presence known. “We've been expecting you, Miss Dimitri,” he said, turning his flashlight on and shining it directly in her face. “Our subpoena is still effective, and we'd like to examine the contents of your suitcases.”

Virginia was speechless. She stooped to set the small suitcase on the dirt floor, then straightened to her full height, folded her arms in front of her and confronting the attorney face-to-face. Her upper lip quivered slightly, but she seemed in perfect control of the situation.

“If you are going to invade my privacy, I have a right to an attorney. And get that light out of my eyes.”

“All in due course. First we'll open the suitcases,” answered Charles.

Two Customs agents corralled the manservant and patted him down to make sure he didn't have firearms.

“Let's do this in a more comfortable setting. Is that all right with you?” asked Charles, making fun of her.

Without giving her a chance to reply, they made the two suspects climb the ladder and brought up the suitcases. Once in the basement of the building, which was adequately lit with fluorescent lights, the agents handcuffed Fu Fung Fat's only wrist to a pipe. Virginia glanced fleetingly in all directions, as though she were looking for a place to run, but immediately realized the futility of such a course. She had a menacingly angry look in her eyes but didn't resist when her hands were cuffed behind her back.

The big suitcase was opened first. It was more than half full of packages of one-hundred-dollar bills, and the other half contained several outfits for the fashionable female.

“Well!” exclaimed Charles. “Are these your savings, Miss?”

Next they searched the smaller suitcase. It was full to the brim with more packages of one-hundred-dollar bills.

“This is a lot of money, but we're still missing about half of the half a million dollars we're looking for, and then there's the claim check and the key to the other jar at Mr. Song's. She has to have them somewhere. Search her,” Samuel whispered to Charles, as he pulled him aside.

“It's not that easy,” said Charles. “We have to have a reason.”

Samuel heated up. “What the shit are you talking about? We find this woman in a secret passageway under the streets of Chinatown with a ton of dough, and that's not reason enough?”

By now, all the others were watching them.

“Okay, okay,” said Charles, “quiet down. I'm in charge here.” He adjusted his tie and straightened his shoulders. “Miss Dimitri, we know you have a claim check and a key for Mr. Song's Many Chinese Herbs in your possession, and we want you to turn them over to us now.”

“You searched my house and you found nothing. Why don't you leave me in peace?” Virginia spit, livid with rage.

“You'll save yourself a lot of trouble if you cooperate.”

“I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about,” she said defiantly.

“We'll have to search you. You leave us no option.”

“If you lay one finger on me, you'll pay dearly. And if you don't release me immediately, I'll sue you and the government and I'll make sure you and that little bastard with you lose your jobs. Let me remind you I have connections in this town, in case you haven't figured that out already.”

Samuel no longer had a job, so he considered the threat humorous.

“Well, then, Miss Dimitri, we'll take you into custody and we'll search your person. It won't be agreeable for you, I'll make sure of that,” smirked Charles.

He called one of the Customs agents over and gave him instructions. “Take Miss Dimitri to the federal marshal's office and have her searched and then book her.”

“What's the charge, Chief?” asked the Customs agent.

“Transporting stolen money,” he said off the cuff.

Virginia laughed out loud. “You'll never make that stick, you son of a bitch. I'll be out in an hour and you'll pay the consequences.”

“Not if I find what I'm looking for, you won't,” said Charles. He gave the order that the manservant and the suitcases also be taken.

“Are there charges?”

“The same. Transporting stolen money,” he answered. “This time we've got her. At least I hope so. There's thousands of dollars in those suitcases. Where did she get it and where was she taking it?”

“It's evident she planned to escape. That means she has the claim check and the key on her,” said Samuel.

“If she has them on her, we'll find them.”

* * *

The interrogation and search of Virginia Dimitri at the U.S. marshal's office was a raucous affair. She refused to answer any questions and demanded to consult with her attorney, who couldn't prevent the search. She had to be physically restrained by two matrons while she was stripped. Virginia threw the first tantrum of her life, which increased in intensity until she lost control. She broke free—scratching, biting and kicking. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “There, you see, nothing on me, you Lesbian bitches!” Another matron joined the fray, and Virginia was finally subdued and flattened against a table. The claim check and the key were found in a plastic bag inserted in her vagina.

The head matron winked at her, and said in a soothing voice, “It never fails, sugar. Those with the most to hide make the most noise.”

They let her go and gave her a clean set of jailhouse garb, but Virginia was still foaming at the mouth and yelling expletives and pulling out her hair. They had to restrain her again. An hour later, she was still out of control and her voice was cracking. A doctor was called and she was sedated before she was locked up in the psychiatric ward.

* * *

With the claim check and key in hand, Charles had a new subpoena issued, and he again appeared at Mr. Song's with two federal marshals, a Customs expert on fingerprints and, of course, Samuel, to whom he owed it all.

Mr. Song was his usual ceremonial self, bowing from behind the black lacquer counter, looking as strange as he did the first time they saw him.

He stroked his white wispy goatee as he examined the claim check and nodded affirmatively. He then looked up serenely at Samuel and Charles, placing both of his hands on the counter, as if weighing his options. Eventually he motioned to his assistant to get his niece. Fifteen long minutes elapsed. When Buckteeth finally showed up, she spent another ten minutes talking to her uncle. Then she got down to business. “Hello, Mr. Hamilton. How's your mood and your health?” she asked.

“Very well, thank you.”

“I'm happy. You are welcome to come back. It will be cheaper now,” she smiled, showing her charming rodent teeth.

Charles raised his eyebrows. “What's that all about? You haven't been dating this young girl, I hope.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Mr. Song helped me stop smoking a while back. I'll tell you all about it later,” explained Samuel, blushing.

“You tell your uncle that we have this claim check and key and this subpoena, just like last time,” demanded Charles.

After she and her uncle talked for five minutes, she translated. “My honorable uncle says that you still haven't returned the jars you took the last time.”

“As soon as the case is over, we'll return them, I promise. It's getting close now.”

“When?”

“I can't tell you exactly. Right now I have to take another jar, the one that corresponds to this claim check.”

“My honorable uncle repeats what he said the last time. The contents of the jar belong to you, but not the jar.”

“We'll talk about that later. First I have to take a look at what's inside.”

The assistant went up the ladder and brought down the jar in question. Samuel remembered that when Fu Fung Fat had been there previously, Mr. Song's assistant removed a smaller jar from the center of the wall, and there was now a gap where it had been.