The Ying on Triad (19 page)

Joe Ray laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you. I don't
know where they found him, but he's here. You can get
him out in the morning"

Needless to say, sleep was out of the question. I
plopped down in front of my computer and booted it up.

In checking my mail, I spotted a file from Eddie Dyson
and quickly opened it.

The file contained the background checks I had
requested on Lei Sun Huang, whom Danny O'Banion
claimed headed up the Ying On triad, and Joey Soong, the
top man in the Sing Leon tong, along with a personal note
from Eddie.

Scanning the pitifully thin file, I saw that both were
born in America in the sixties and Joey Soong ran a small
laundry while Lei Sun Huang had an interest in the
Kwockwing Funeral Home.

That was all.

I read Eddie's note.

Sorry, Tony. There was nothing on these two except
Social Security numbers. They don't even have drivers' licenses. It's like they were just born. No charge
for this one, pal.

I reread the file. The only thing I recognized was the
Kwockwing Funeral Home, the one into which Red
Tompkins had disappeared ten years earlier.

Pulling out my note cards, I studied the plans I had
made for the morning. I wanted to look up the owner of
license number LSH-YOT and the owners of A. A.
Aggregates and Asphalt as well as that of the Kwockwing
Funeral Home and now of Joey Soong's laundry. To find
information on the three businesses, I had to have legal descriptions. From the legal descriptions, I could get
owners' names.

Pulling out the telephone directory, I copied the addresses.

The Travis County Courthouse opened at 8:00. My first
stop would be the tax office where, with the addresses, I
could obtain a legal description, with which the County
Clerk's office could then look up names of owners.

I wasn't really sure just what I was looking for, but I
knew I was closing in on it. The attempts on my life were
proof enough. The logical extension of my thinking was
that someone wanted Packard dead. Looking back over
the last couple days, that someone had to have a broad
sphere of influence-like Sen. Samuel Jefferson Bradford
would have.

Thirty minutes before the courthouse opened, I pulled
into a slot in the parking lot behind the police station. For
several moments I studied the station house. I'm ashamed
to admit it, but I was seriously considering letting my old
man sweat it out in the drunk tank while I tackled the last
couple days of saving Bobby Packard.

The date was November 3.

If I failed, then at 6:00 P.M. the next day, November 4,
sodium thiopental, the first of the three chemicals used to
carry out the death penalty, would be injected into Bobby
Packard's arm to anaesthetize him. One minute later, pancuronium bromide would flood his system to relax muscles, collapsing the diaphragm and lungs, followed sixty
seconds later with potassium chloride to stop the heart.

Within seven minutes, the execution would be over. And
all for the frugal cost to the Texas taxpayers of $86.08.

I told myself I didn't have time to keep up with my old
man. Use some common sense, Tony, I told myself. Let him sit in jail. At least, he can't get into trouble there. Get
him out later.

All logical, sensible thoughts of course, but surprisingly,
I found myself marching across the parking lot into the station house. I couldn't silence the little voice in the back of
my head that kept saying, Maybe this time. Maybe this time.

By 9:30, John Roney and I were back at the truck. I was
a couple hundred dollars poorer, and we had a court date
in four weeks. Mentally, I kissed the two hundred bucks
good-bye knowing full well he'd never make the court
date, but at least, my old man was out of jail.

"Climb in," I said, "and wait for me" I pointed to the
courthouse. "I have a couple errands to run. I'll be right
back"

I visited the tax office first where I found the legal
description of all three properties. My next stop was the
County Clerk's office where I requested the name of the
owner of the limo with the license number LSH-YOT as
well as the three businesses. "I might be interested in purchasing one of them," I told the young clerk.

Sitting on a bench in the hall outside of the County
Clerk's office ten minutes later, I stared at the documents
in my hands, unable to believe what I had discovered.

Both A. A. Aggregates and Kwockwing Funeral Home
were incorporated, and Samuel Jefferson Bradford served
on the board of each one. I pondered the information.
Bradford on the board of A. A. Aggregates and Kwockwing
Funeral home could explain the appearance of the Peterbilt
tractor that tried to turn the Model T into junk, and the
Asians that did their best to do the same to Janice and me
in the alley.

I continued reading.

The president of Kwockwing Funeral Home
Incorporated was none other than Lei Sun Huang, the
same Lei Sun Huang who was the alleged leader of the
Ying On triad.

I looked at the name of the owner of the limo. Again,
Lei Sun Huang. "Why didn't you see that, dummy," I
muttered, observing the license number. LSH-YOT. Lei
Sun Huang of the Ying On triad. I shook my head at their
audacity. "They even have their own personalized plates,"
I muttered.

There were several Asians listed as officers of the
Kwockwing corporation. On impulse, I jotted the names
of the five officers and headed back to the County Clerk's
office.

I went to the DBA line. DBA meant doing business as,
and all prospective business owners, doing business as,
must register their names and the names of their business
with the respective county.

I handed the older clerk a list of names and requested
the name of their businesses.

Quickly, she entered the request into a computer, and
within moments, the printer spit out the information. She
handed me the reports. "Only two came up, sir. That'll be
ten dollars"

Back out in the hall, I scanned the reports. Chang Yulan
owned a medium-sized service business on the east side
of Austin, the Seven Seas Import-Export.

The second name, Lao Ning, ran a chain of carwashes,
inscrutably named Bobby's Car-wash.

For several moments, I stood motionless, contemplating the information before me. Senator Bradford's position as board member of both Kwockwing Funeral
Home Incorporated and A. A. Aggregates and Asphalt Incorporated firmly convinced me that he was part of the
efforts to scare me away from the case.

Now, I had to come up with the hard proof. I glanced at
my watch and whistled softly. Whatever I did, I had to do
it fast.

I hesitated as I approached my pickup. The front seat
was empty. The old man had vanished again. I shook my
head and cursed. I should have known better. So much for
maybes.

I slid behind the wheel. I knew very little about Asian
culture, and I didn't have time to learn its nuances now. I
would just have to keep doing what I did best-blunder
ahead. I crossed my fingers that Joe Ray Burrus's assertion that the Song Leon tong and the Ying On triad hated
each other. Otherwise, I could be walking into something
that I couldn't get out of just like Red Tompkins did when
he walked into the Kwockwing Funeral Home.

I decided to provide myself some insurance. I called
Joe Ray Burros. "You know where the Soong Laundry is
located?"

"Sure. It's on Seventy-eighth Street near Huston
Tillotson College. Joey Soong runs it. What's up?"

"Do me a favor. I'm going out there to talk to him. If
you don't hear from me in an hour, send a car out there"

He grew serious. "You all right, Tony? What are you
up to?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to disappear like Red
Tompkins did"

"Red who?"

"I'll explain later. Just help me out on this, okay?"

"Okay. One hour"

My first surprise came when I pulled up in front of
Soong Laundry. Instead of a tiny hovel squeezed
between two clapboard buildings in the manner portrayed by the old westerns, it was a well-kept building of
white brick and glass surrounded on three sides by a
professionally-maintained landscape. In the rear parking
lot sat a half dozen sparkling-white delivery trucks.

The second surprise was the smiling young lady who
greeted me when I entered. I guess I was expecting barely
intelligible singsong speech, but instead, she articulated
much more clearly than I did. I identified myself and
asked to see the owner, Joey Soong.

Her smile stiffened.

I gave her my most disarming smile. "I'm not a salesman. I'm a private investigator. I have a couple questions
I think Mr. Soong can help me with."

Her smile still frozen, she replied, "I'll see if he's
here." She disappeared into the rear through an open door,
beyond which I saw several bustling Asians pushing laundry carts and hovering over various stainless steel vats
from which bursts of steam gushed.

Moments later, she reappeared. "This way," she pointed
to the aisle between rows of steaming vats in which I supposed laundry was being laundered. "His office is at the
end of the aisle, on the right"

Joey Soong smiled up at me when I entered his office.
If the decor of his office was any indication of the man,
Joey Soong was spare, frugal, and no-nonsense. I discovered quickly his approach to business was more Western
than Oriental.

"Please, have a seat" He gestured to a worn Captain's
chair in front of his equally worn oak desk. A slight man,
he wore a self-effacing smile on his slender face, but his
eyes searched deep into mine. He extended his hand,
"How can I help you, Mr. Boudreaux? I haven't done anything wrong, I hope"

"No," I laughed and shook his hand. "I appreciate your
seeing me. I know you're busy."

"Yes, you know how it is. To quote Confucius, `Time is
money.' " I frowned, and he laughed. "Well, if he didn't
say it, he should have"

I liked Joey Soong. He was nothing like I had expected.
I cleared my throat, "I've been told you control the Sing
Leon tong in Austin"

He shrugged. "Control is a strong word"

I hesitated, uncertain if there were some customs I
needed to observe or if I should simply state what I wanted to learn. "Bear with me, please. I'm not familiar with
your people's customs"

A crooked grin played over his face. "My people? I'm
an American, Mr. Boudreaux"

My ears burned. With a self-conscious grin, I replied,
"Maybe I should come straight to the point. It's just
that-" I hesitated.

He finished my remark. "You just didn't know how to handle Asians, right? That's what you were going to
say?"

I laughed, "I suppose so"

He leaned forward and nodded. "Sure, many of the old
folks cling to the habits of the old country, but most of us
born in the good old U.S. of A. prefer to direct, nononsense approach to business. So, what can I do for
you?"

"What's the difference between a tong and a triad?"

Joey Soong frowned. "Do you know someone in the
triad?"

"No" I paused, wondering just how honest I should be
with him and remembering Joe Ray, my insurance. "What
can you tell me about some men by the names of Lei Sun
Huang, Chang Yulan, and Lao Ning?"

The smile faded from his face. He eyed me suspiciously.
"If you will excuse me for saying so, those are not good
men to know, Mr. Boudreaux"

"I don't know them, but they are involved in a case I'm
working on. So, tell me, what is the difference between
tongs and triads?"

He shook his head. "Good and bad, Mr. Boudreaux.
The Sing Leon tong in Austin is basically a fraternal-I
suppose you could even say business-organization"

"Business?"

"Yes"

"I asked a cop friend of mine about the tong. He said it
was sort of like the Chamber of Commerce. Members do
business with members most of the time. Is that how it is?"

Joey nodded. "Not all tongs. There are some tongs that
do have a criminal element," he paused. "But not in
Austin. The only criminal element among the Asians in
this city is the Ying On triad, and the three names you
gave me are influential members of that triad"

"This traid you mentioned, the Ying On, what do
they do?"

He shook his head. "Whatever they can-prostitution,
bribery, auto theft, smuggling, just to name a few"

My ears perked up. "Smuggling? You mean drugs?"

"That too. Whatever the market will bear-arms, animals, snakes"

"Snakes?" I stared at him, a disbelieving smile flickering over my lips.

He nodded, "Whatever the market demands, Mr.
Boudreaux" He hesitated. "We hear rumors of their activities. Nothing we can pin down. Two years ago, a young
man named James Lu disappeared. James had grown up
in our neighborhood. He was a member of the Ying On
triad, and made the mistake of telling his brother the triad
had just delivered two hundred thousand dollars worth of
parrots to a pet dealer in Florida"