The Voting Machine

Hidden Fortune

"Let her go, Temo. I told you she betrayed you with that other guy. You don't want to believe me? I still got the pictures on my computer."

"She doesn't know that other guy is a killer working for Shiro. He's the one who caused my accident on the freeway. He's the one who shot that man at the mosque in Irvine last night."

"And she chose him over you."

"She didn't know what he really was."

"Temo, you're deluding yourself. I saw this situation a million times back when I was working as a private investigator. Women would hire me to investigate the men they fell in love with, they'd pay me to look into their suspicions. They didn't want to believe their men were cheaters. They didn't want to lose hold of that dream of true love, the dream they'd had since they were young girls. And every single time, their suspicions were confirmed, their men had done them wrong. Their dream was a pitiful illusion. We can't expect other people to be what we want them to be, Temo. We're all alone in this world whether we like it or not."

I laughed. "Gina used to say the same thing and maybe you're both right. I've been called a sucker before and it's probably true. But I've been this person too long to turn into someone else. I can't just lay down when my wife and baby are living with a killer. Are you going to help me or not?"

"OK, fine. What do you want from me?"

"Show me the photos for starters, the pictures you took to prove she was cheating."

He pulled up the photos on the desktop of his computer. I hunched over the monitor to study them. There was a window shot taken from the street showed them kissing in our apartment. Another picture had Davis pushing Reina in a stroller at Wilson Park. In a third photo, they were all eating lunch in the Golden Pheasant, the same place that Suzy and I used to go on our first dates. They were sitting in our old spot by the window sill, Suzy's arm resting at the edge of the table. She was covering an object with her hand, something I couldn't quite recognize under her clasped fingers.

Larry sighed. "Even if you did want to help them, what are you going to do? You can't communicate with her. You know they must be tapping her phones, reading her email. And you're not going to be able to get anywhere near her if this guy is half as dangerous as you say he is."

"Suzy's smart. She must realize that I am in LA, trying to find a way to make contact."

"How would she do that?"

Then it dawned on me what she was holding in the photo.

"I need you to take me to the Golden Pheasant."

"That dim sum place? You think she'll be there?"

"It doesn't matter."

Larry sighed. "That's a mile from the Torrance police station."

"It's lunch time. That area will be busy and we can blend in. If there's any heat we just drive on by."

We took the 405 to Gardena and exited near Crenshaw and 190th street. Larry was still peering around in every direction at every stop light.

"We're being followed," he said matter-of-factly as we turned south onto Crenshaw near the old Lexus headquarters. In the passenger side mirror I noticed a silver Audi coupe behind us, manned by two Asian men in buzzcuts with designer sunglasses.

"They're not following us. Look at those guys. They aren't cops or Feds," I said. "They're driving a $100,000 sports car."

"That doesn't mean they aren't following us."

"They're probably Japanese executives working for Lexus or Honda," I said. Both the car makers had their American headquarters in this area.

"They're driving an Audi."

We continued south on Crenshaw, crossing Del Amo. This was a few blocks from the neighborhood where Flytrap once ran his carriage house full of junkies. After he died, the city claimed the lot and resold it to a developer. We drove by the Miyako Hybrid Hotel, where Flytrap and another friend of mine had gunned each other down in broad daylight last summer. We turned at the intersection of Crenshaw and Carson while the Audi continued due south towards the harbor. I smirked at Larry as if to say I told you so.

When we reached the old downtown section, Larry dropped me off on the corner in front of the Golden Pheasant. It was still early and the place was just opening up for lunch.

"Just circle the block," I told him. "This will only take a few minutes."

The hostess was a grouchy, middle-aged woman who spoke with a thick Cantonese accent. She directed me to sit at a single table by the kitchen. Once she turned away, I immediately got up and went over to the window where Suzy, Davis and the baby had been sitting.

"I told you to sit you sit over there," she squawked.

"I want to sit here," I said, which still hadn't been cleared.

"Not ready," she explained, pointing at the clutter of used plates and cups.

"I'll wait," I said. "I like the view." I pointed out the window.

A tall waiter with a server name badge "Luke" came from behind and mumbled something to her in Chinese.

"Any problem?" Luke said to me in a deep voice.

"No problem."

He spoke with her in Chinese until she seemed satisfied. Then he shrugged and started wiping my table. I told him I'd wait until the cart came over since I didn't want to order anything off the menu. Luke returned to the kitchen while the surly hostess greeted the next group of customers.

I reached under the table and felt for the hidden tea cup on the window sill, removing the note underneath.

HE KNOWS YOU ARE IN LA. HE IS USING ME AND REINA AS BAIT. ONE WRONG MOVE AND HE'LL KILL OUR BABY.

When I finished reading, I tore the note into tiny shreds. I noticed I a familiar set of faces on the street in front of the restaurant. Emmanuel Stevens was in the driver's seat of his SUV, stopped in the street, talking into his cell phone headset as a pair of government-issue cars pulled up behind him.

I left my seat and walked casually past the bathroom towards the kitchen in the back of the restaurant. The sounds of humming dish washers and sizzling frying pans filled my ears. I made a quick line through the kitchen towards an exit in the alley.

When I got outside, I felt a hand touch my neck from behind. It pinched a nerve and suddenly I was paralyzed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could vaguely make out my attacker's designer sunglasses and his buzz cut hairstyle. His partner backed the Audi into the alley and they threw me in the back sat. Everything went black for a stretch of time that seemed to have no solid definition. When I finally woke, I was in a comfortable leather sofa, face-to-face with George Chen and Teresa Swan.