The Ying on Triad (2 page)

Now everyone knows a corpse can't talk, especially
one that has been dead ten years. But in seven harrowing
days, I discovered there is more than one way to talk. Red
Tompkins proved it to me. And in so doing, he reminded
me that fate directs our lives with both a trace of humor
and a handful of mockery.

Over the years I've made fair progress at Blevins'
Investigations, rising from the more plebeian jobs of running down skips and tailing errant husbands or wives to
the more substantial work of S & L scams, personnel
background searches, and even turning up evidence to
help the local law collar a killer or two. It wasn't the kind
of excitement that would entice James Bond to leave the
French Rivera, but for a country boy from Church Point,
Louisiana, it was satisfying.

However, somewhere along the way I had forgotten the
sobering truth that life gets its kicks from throwing curve-
balls; and this time the pitch coming at me had as wicked
a break as any I had ever faced.

To make matters worse I had only one strike, and if I
swung and missed, Bobby Packard would be out of the game of life. The state of Texas would see to that. Final
score, Texas-1; Bobby Packard-0.

That pitch lasted seven days, seven interminable days
that were a potpourri made up of a significant other who
wanted to play detective; an ex-wife showing up in town;
a millionaire friend soliciting my help to run for city hall;
the sudden, but not surprising appearance of my old man
who had stolen my laptop at the last family reunion; a
testy mob underboss; secretive Asian tongs and triads;
and a corpse that had vanished.

In other words, fate had decided it was time for my
handful of mockery.

October weather in Central Texas is a celebration of
fickleness. If Mother Nature isn't satisfied in the morning,
she'll make changes by afternoon. In my years around
Austin, I've seen ninety degrees one day and snow the
next. In Texas, the credibility of weather prognostication
is right up there with fortune-telling.

The day that Danny O'Banion, Austin's rumored
caporegime, walked into Blevins' Investigations was
chilly and quiet, and his appearance made the day grow
even quieter. Two of my co-workers abruptly stopped
their conversation and stared at Danny in astonishment.

Standing in the open doorway with his oversized
bodyguard, Huey-aka Godzilla-behind him, Danny
calmly surveyed the office. When he spotted me, he smiled
faintly and nodded, his freckled face and tousled red hair
reminding me of a modern-day Tom Sawyer. "Hello,
Tony," he said, striding across the room to my desk and
holding out his hand.

Danny and I have a history, and I was always glad to
see him despite the fact that he was connected big-time to
the mob. I shook his hand. "Hey, Danny. What's up?" I
gestured to a chair at the side of my desk.

He slipped into the chair. Huey stood towering over him.

"Hello, Huey," I said, nodding at the big man. The first
time I had seen Huey was at night on a narrow road west
of Austin. His square face had looked like a chunk of
chipped granite, square and solid, with no distinguishing
features other than a couple fissures for eyes, a square
knob for a nose, and a third crevice that was probably his
mouth. It hadn't changed over the years.

Huey grunted.

For him, a single grunt was considered garrulous. Still,
I owed him. Two years earlier he had saved my life out at
the Chalk Hills Distillery by taking a slug meant for me.

"Well, Danny, what brings you down here? Slumming?"

He glanced over my shoulder. I looked around. My
boss, Marty Blevins, stood gaping at us through the window of his office door. "That's Marty," I explained. "My
boss"

I hesitated, puzzled by Danny's sudden appearance. He
seldom left his lair on the top floor of the Green Light
Parking Garage in downtown Austin. Whatever had
brought him out must be important.

Leaning back in his chair, Danny crossed one leg over
the other and drew a deep breath. "Tony, I need your
help" He nodded to Marty who, with no hint of shame,
continued to stare out the window at us. "Maybe I should
say, I need your company's help"

For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood him.
"Our help? You mean you want to hire us?" I had always
been a fast thinker.

With a terse nod he explained, "I have a cousin on
death row in Huntsville for the murder of Albert Hastings
ten or eleven years ago. Hastings was the governor-elect
at that time"

Nodding slowly, I vaguely remembered the headlines
shouting about the murder.

Danny continued, "Bobby is scheduled for lethal injection on November 4, seven days from now. I want you to
find the real killer before then"

I frowned.

"Just after Bobby's arrest, our uncle, Liam McCulloch,
claimed a man by the name of Red tried to sell him
a video showing who had really killed Hastings. This
Red claimed the shooter was a Chink," he shrugged,
"-maybe connected to a triad"

I just stared at Danny. His surprising request had overloaded my brain, and for a moment, both hemispheres of
that puny organ threatened to shut down like my old computer. Finally, the gray matter rebooted itself, but all I
could do was blink like the innocuous cursor.

A faint smile flickered over his lips. "This is strictly
legit, Tony. My people aren't part of it. This is family."

Hesitantly, I replied, "None of-ah, no one-huh? Just
you?"

"And a couple uncles and aunts-family. You know,
personal family. Not business family."

I was still having trouble absorbing his request. "You
have more connections than we do, Danny. Why don't
you find this Red? Can't your uncle help?"

His eyes narrowed, and a wry smile ticked up one side
of his lips. "First, Uncle Liam's dead. His heart ... five
years ago.

And we looked for this Red guy, but he dropped out of
sight. I could have put out the word, but the ones I work
for were very upset about the governor-elect's death" He
paused, the wry grin on his lips turning down. "Let's just
say that because of business ramifications, they wouldn't
be interested in freeing the man convicted of killing that
particular governor-elect"

After digesting his words a few moments, I understood
what he hadn't said. Pushing back from the desk, I motioned for him to accompany me. "We need to talk
to my boss about this, Danny," I said, leading the way
to Marty's office. "There are a couple of ... well ...
unusual sides to this job"

He chuckled, "I'd say more than a couple"

Marty hastily backed away from the door when he saw
us coming in his direction. His bulging eyes shifted rapidly from Danny to Huey, ignoring me.

I opened the door and gestured for Danny and Huey to
enter. "Marty, you know Danny O'Banion. And this is
Huey."

Marty's fleshy forehead glistened with perspiration. He
nodded once, then dragged the tip of his tongue across his
lips. "Ah ... well, not personally," he stammered. "II've seen your picture in the papers, Mr. O'Banion.
Please, have ... have a seat," he stuttered, indicating the
chairs in front of his desk and rubbing at the sweaty rolls
of fat around his size twenty-two neck. "Nice pictures,"
he added hastily.

Huey, as expected, remained standing. I took the second chair and explained, "Marty, ten years ago Danny's
cousin went to prison convicted of the murder of Albert
Hastings, the governor-elect at the time. Danny wants to
hire us to prove his cousin is innocent of the murder. His
uncle claimed someone tried to sell him film showing the
real killer."

Marty stared at me, expecting more.

I shrugged. "That's it. And, oh yeah, the uncle's dead
now." I waited, watching the wheels turn in Marty's head.

Danny spoke up. "Look, Marty, it's like I told Tony.
This is personal, not business," he said, emphasizing the
word business. He paused, studying Marty to see if he
grasped Danny's meaning.

Marty's forehead wrinkled. "Personal? Not business?
You mean, it has nothing to do with-"

Danny cut him off. "I mean, it's personal. My cousin is
on death row for a murder he says he didn't commit. We
found out today his last appeal was denied. That's why I
didn't come to Tony sooner," he grimaced, "which could
prove to be a mistake on my part"

"It happened about ten years ago, Marty," I explained.
"Remember the guy who shot the governor-elect?"

Marty frowned, then his eyes widened in surprise.
"That's him? That's your cousin?"

Danny nodded.

"He has a week, Marty," I put in. "Next weekNovember 4-is the date of execution"

Marty was greedy, but also worried about his company's
reputation, about crossing the mob, and about offending
the local law. Through his beady eyes, I could read the
thoughts whirling in his frenetic little brain. What if city
hall objected? They could pull strings to create all sorts of
problems for a company. The local law agencies might
stop being so helpful. They might take away his free parking downtown. "I don't know, Mr. O'Banion. We're
booked up pretty solid around here"

Danny glanced up at me and winked. His blue eyes
gleamed with amusement. "Tell you what, Marty. I'll pay
you twenty-five hundred a day and if you keep Bobby
from the needle, a ten thousand dollar bonus"

That was all Marty needed to forget his company's
reputation, the mob, city hall, and downtown parking. He
looked up at me with a concerned expression on his face.
"I know you have a big workload, Tony, but I think we
should do all we can to help Mr. O'Banion. After all, we
are talking about an innocent man here. We need to do
what we can, don't you think?" He turned away from me
and gave Danny a beaming, beneficent smile.

The grin that played across Danny's freckled face told
me what I already knew, that he read Marty like a book, which wasn't hard since Marty possessed the mentality of
an elementary schoolboy.

"Yeah, Marty," I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm
from my tone. "That would be the Christian thing to do"

Keeping his eyes on Danny and completely oblivious
to my sarcasm, he replied, "I think so too. I really do""

One side of Danny's lips curled.

Even Huey snorted.

I glanced at him. The crevice on his face that his was
mouth appeared to quiver.

Marty looked at me. "Tell you what, Tony. Tomorrow,
you drive up to Huntsville and visit with ... A..."

"Robert Packard," Danny said.

"Yeah, Robert Packard. You need to get up there and
see him."

I frowned. "What about visiting hours? I didn't think
that on death row-"

"Don't worry about that," Danny assured me. "They'll
let-you-in whenever you arrive."

My frown deepened.

He winked at me. "Trust me. You won't run into any
problems up there. I'll take care of it for you."-

"Okay with me," I replied. If Danny said things were
taken care of, then they were. I knew from experience.

Marty cleared his throat. "And, Tony"

I looked around at him. "Yeah?"

"When you get back from Huntsville, go over the interview with Nathan Savage. We don't have much time."

Danny gave me a curious look.

Savage? I bit my tongue. In what I hoped was a calm,
firm voice, I said, "I don't need Savage, Marty. I can handle this myself."

He looked around at me, momentarily puzzled, and then
a broad grin split his pan-shaped face. "Sure you can, Tony,
sure you can. But Nathan's got thirteen years' experience. Bounce it off him, and he might have an idea or two. A
different slant. All right?"

With a deep sigh, I replied, "All right. I'll need a transcript of the trial"

"I'll have it to you first thing in the morning." Danny
snapped his fingers, and Huey grunted.

"Early. I'm leaving for Huntsville at six"

"It'll be at your place before five-thirty."

I reached for the phone. I never interfered with police
business. I figured Austin P.D. had no interest in Bobby
Packard, but I called Chief Ramon Pachuca, a thirdgeneration Hispanic, for his blessing, which he gave.