Year of the Dragon (46 page)

“You ever been hit with one of these things?” asked Kelly conversationally. “Turn your brain to jelly and never leave a mark. When I was a young cop, all the fellas carried one. You don’t see them much anymore.” The sap kept slapping down. Sweat had popped out on Casagrande’s brow - whether from concentration or fear was impossible to determine. “If we killed one of you pricks by mistake nobody cared.” This was true. Powers had been there. He had seen such things happen, and had turned away, and had kept his mouth shut afterwards.

“Nowadays we gotta be more careful,” said Kelly. He dropped the sap into his coat pocket, and continued the intimidation by other means.

“What we do nowadays,” said Kelly, “is, we let you go. Then we put word out on the street that you gave up a made guy, a man of respect such as your brother-in-law. Then two or three days after that we find your body in the trunk of a car. And you want to know something, pal? When one of you ginnys turns up in the trunk of a car, nobody cares. Now what I suggest to you is, you give us Koy like we asked you. Otherwise, I figure you got about two days to live.”

Kelly was nodding his head up and down. “You think about it a minute, while I go next door and tell your brother-in-law all you’ve been saying about him.”

Kelly, as he entered the adjoining office, was shaking his head sadly. “Marco, you got problems. Your brother-in-law is blabbing his head off. You know that meeting with Koy you had at 7 Mulberry Street? He was just telling us how he got sent out into the street. Koy didn’t want to talk in front of him, it seems. He was insulted. I guess that’s why he’s talking so much. Unfortunately, he’s telling us a lot about your operation, too. Which don’t interest us, by the way. Now if you want to shut him up, why don’t you give us Koy? Otherwise, the ways things are going, he’ll cause you so much loss of respect you’ll have to put out a contract on him. I know you don’t want to do that. Your sister’s husband and all.”

For two hours the interrogation continued, but both subjects remained obdurate. It was like bombarding boulders with eggs. It was like beating on drums in an attempt to weaken the fabric of the drum. Although one used words instead of drumsticks, the decibel level was the same. But these drums seemed truly inanimate, impervious to noise, impervious to the passage of time. Whereas the effort expended by the drummers was prodigious. The useless, monotonous, echoing reverberation wore out the drummers.

Again Kelly and Powers consulted in the hallway.

“What do you think, Captain?”

“Let’s try the Chinese guys,” said Powers. He had a screaming headache, brought on by his own screaming voice, which he was losing. He was already hoarse, and getting hoarser.

They talked in whispers, because across the squad room Nikki Han sat on the floor of the cage watching them with small ferret eyes. Since the arrests he had been kept apart from Go Low, who waited his turn in still another empty office guarded by Luang.

“Go Low is our best chance,” whispered Powers.

Kelly walked over to the cage. Han only stared at him.

“You pulled the trigger on one of the brothers,” Kelly snarled. “We got a witness. We got you for extortion, for possession of weapons today, and for murder. Ironclad evidence. You want a break, Nikki, you give us Koy. We know he was at the warehouse the night you killed that guy. We got a witness to that too. You want a break, you call me.”

That would give Han something to think about – maybe - while Powers and Kelly went into the office and worked over Go Low.

Kelly slammed the office door. Go Low, after hours of immobility, jumped to his feet. “Report just came back from the lab,” said Kelly, a lie. No report was expected before tomorrow. “That Browning matches the bullet out of the Hsu boy’s skull.” Kelly was chortling, rubbing his hands. He’s a fine actor, thought Powers.

Kelly said, “We got you for possession of guns, kiddo. And now we got you as an accessory to murder also. You want a break, you tell us about the narcotics shipment that’s coming in. You give us Koy.”

The Chinese youth stared at Kelly.

Kelly said, “Nikki Han pulled the trigger, but you were there. We got it all on tape. Ironclad evidence. You go away for life. We also know that Koy was there. Koy gave the orders. You agree to give us Koy, you get a break. You give something, you get something.”

Low was a dapper youth. His movements were lithe like a cat’s. There was a feline expression to his face as well.

The questioning turned vicious.

“You’re a pretty sharp dresser, Low.” Kelly said. “Think a lot of your appearance, don’t you? Nice fingernails, I see. I wonder how you’ll like it in the slammer. You’ve never done any time, have you? You little Chinese guys are very popular in the slammer. They turn you into girls right away. Have you ever been fucked up the ass, Low? Tonight on Riker’s Island you can try it out. They’ll be glad to see you on Riker’s. At the end of an hour, two hours, your asshole won’t be virgin no more, Low.”

They were interrupted by Casagrande’s voice through the wall. “So take me to court,” he shouted.

Powers said, “Or we could hold you here. Think about it, Low.”

As the afternoon passed, Casagrande kept demanding to be booked and arraigned. He seemed to become more and more agitated, and Powers noted this.

“I got my rights,” Casagrande shouted from next door.” Take me to court and I’ll post bail,” Casagrande shouted.

His lawyer had charged into the station house and was making the same demands downstairs. He made them over and over again. Powers, locked in the office with Low, could hear both voices through the walls. After delaying as long as he could, he at last ordered Marco and Casagrande booked and taken to arraignment court. But he drew the arresting detectives aside and instructed them, if Casagrande should make bail, to follow him away from the courthouse.

“I want to know where he goes,” said Powers, and he watched the two handcuffed prisoners, the two detectives and the lawyer leave the station house. Then he sighed and went back upstairs to resume questioning Go Low.

FROM POWERS’ point of view, the most important of his four prisoners, though he did not know it, was Casagrande. Since the man had had no previous police record, his associates had assumed, wrongly, that no police agency was interested in him. He had therefore been assigned the job of getting the narcotics off the
Rotterdam
- which would sail that evening.

Arraignment court was crowded, and two more hours passed before the case was called. The judge ordered Marco remanded, and set ten thousand dollars bail on Casagrande. A bondsman, already on hand, posted it at once and Casagrande rushed out onto the street where he hailed a taxi and jumped into it. The two detectives were close behind him. The
Rotterdam
sailed at 6 P.M., and it was nearly that now.

Ownership of the narcotics aboard the
Rotterdam
had passed to the Italians the night before. Money had changed hands, a down payment that had already reached Koy. The Hakka stoker had been notified. Casagrande had been equipped with the recognition signal. He was prepared to put Marco’s plan into operation. The narcotics were to be brought off in the final load of garbage before the ship sailed. Two longshoremen had been alerted, but for reasons of security had been given no details. The details were the job of Casagrande, now leaning tensely forward in his cab, peering under the disused West Side Highway, toward the pier. Where there should have been a ship he could see open water. He could see clear across to New Jersey. The
Rotterdam
was half a mile out and a mile downstream - Casagrande did not care how far. He could not see it. It was gone. He was too late. He told the driver not to stop, to turn north on West Street and to keep going. He got out on Fifty-seventh Street and walked idly along, looking in the windows in the gathering twilight. The detectives parked. One got out and tailed him on foot from a discreet distance.

On board the
Rotterdam
eleven hundred cruise passengers sat down to a gala champagne dinner. In the engine room the stoker worked stripped to the waist, handkerchief tied around his neck, the sweat rolling down his back anyway. He was worried about the one-hundred-dollar courier fee he had not been paid, and about the plastic pouches still stashed under the floor plates in the bilge.

OUTSIDE THE station house window the afternoon faded into dusk.

Glickman phoned. “The ship has sailed, Captain. We made a good try, what can I tell you? Either they got the stuff off, or it was never on there.”

“Maybe it’s still on there,” said Powers.

Glickman laughed. “You don’t give up easily, do you?” But the laugh ended. “I guess this hunch of yours cost me about a hundred hours in overtime. That’s a lot when you come up empty. I don’t begrudge it to you. Given the facts, it was the logical ship. I thought it was worth a try, or I wouldn’t have ordered it. But I hope you don’t think we’re going to search that ship again when it comes back.”

“No, of course not,” said Powers. “Listen, I really appreciate all you’ve done. Thank you very much. I mean it. I just wish I’d been right.”

“Oh hell,” said Glickman, embarrassed. “Maybe you were. Who knows?”

There was a long silence.

“One other thing,” said Glickman. “The PC asked me to call him once the ship sailed. I’m afraid I’m going to have to do that.”

“Sure,” said Powers. “I understand. Don’t think twice about it. And again - thanks for the good try.”

He hung up and turned away from the phone.

“You look exhausted, Captain,” said Kelly.

Powers had stepped out into the squad room to take the call. He looked around at the rows of empty desks. It looked like a newspaper office. At two of them squad detectives spoke into telephones. There were only three other persons present, Nikki Han pretending to be asleep on the floor of the cage, and a uniformed cop fingerprinting his prisoner at the fingerprint desk. The prisoner appeared to be an addict. The cop was working hard, carefully rolling each lax, uncoordinated finger on to the pad.

“I’m exhausted, all right,” said Powers, “aren’t you?”

Kelly laughed. “Relax, Captain. You can’t expect to crack these pricks wide open the first night. It’s a long process. We keep hammering on them the next six months, and maybe finally one of them cracks and gives up the others. Shall we go back to Go Low?”

Powers said, “I don’t have six months.”

The immigration officer, Baumgartner, having come up the stairs, walked out into the squad room. “Can I see you a minute, Captain?”

Powers went over to him.

“I stopped her on the street earlier today,” said Baumgartner in a low voice. “We have that right by law. I asked to see her green card. From her attitude, I’d say she doesn’t know it’s phony. It’s a very good job. I can pick her up and hold her for deportation. You tell me what you want me to do.”

“How soon can you get a warrant, or whatever you guys use?”

“I took care of that already.” said Baumgartner. From his breast pocket he withdrew the document and waved it at Powers. “But we have to make the arrest. You cops don’t have jurisdiction in immigration matters.”

“Just let me have the warrant,” said Powers reaching for it. “Just let me have that paper in my hands for an hour.”

Baumgartner handed it over. “What have you got in mind?”

“An idea that might work.” said Powers. “I don’t know. It’s my only chance.” Kelly was right. None of the prisoners would crack tonight, and he could wait no longer. He would have to move in the only other direction open to him. And he peered around for Luang. He found him in one of the offices, feet up on the desk, half asleep.

“Reach out for Koy,” said Powers. “Phone the new apartment first. If it’s an unlisted number, call telephone company security and get it.”

Luang gave a grin. “It is unlisted, Captain, and I got it already.”

Luang reached for the phone and dialed the number. While it rang Powers began to pace the room. But he could not keep his eyes off Luang, off the phone itself. He heard Luang say: “Captain Powers calling from the Fifth Precinct. One moment, please.”

Taking the receiver, Powers held his hand over the mouthpiece, and took a deep breath. When he began to speak, he made his voice sound carefree, jovial.

“Hello there, Mr. Koy. How are you? How was Hong Kong? Did you have a good trip?”

No answer came to any of these questions, nor had Powers waited for one. So far Koy had said nothing except hello.

“Yes,” continued Powers, “I was away myself for a while. Yes, I went to Hong Kong too. I’m surprised we didn’t run into each other there.”

There was no answer from Koy, although Powers believed he could hear him breathing. Did this betray shock, fear, panic? It was ridiculous to imagine it betrayed anything except that the man was alive and had to breathe.

“Listen, Mr. Koy, I’ve got to see you right away. I have some information you might be interested in hearing.”

“My office sometime tomorrow,” Koy suggested after a moment.

Powers, who could detect no urgency in his voice, realized Koy was playing a game with him. The urgency, if any, would have to be displayed by himself, and then Koy would know more than he knew right now.

“No, your office wouldn’t be a good place,” said Powers, “and the precinct wouldn’t be a good place either.”

There was a clock on the wall across the squad room, and he watched the second hand sweep around twice. It became the heaviest silence he had ever endured.

Koy said, “Where do you suggest, then?”

“We need privacy,” said Powers. He felt he had won a great victory, but was not sure why. He had forced Koy to speak, to request, in effect, that the meeting take place. And this time Powers believed he had heard a barely perceptible choke in Koy’s voice. The man was not made of stone after all, and was worried.

“You and I ought to be able to settle this between us, if you get my meaning,” said Powers. “We ought to be able to reach an accommodation, don’t you think? The way this thing is going brings no profit to anyone, don’t you agree?”

Koy said nothing.