The two bulls from Internal Affairs Division surprised Jack, two big white cops with neat crewcuts and eyes like steel rivets. The captain introduced them, Rob Hogan, Paul DiMizzio. Jack watched quietly as Hogan spoke first.
"Detective, can you explain why we have you on videotape going down to Number Nine Mott Street? Why P.O. Jamal Josephs confirms a subsequent meeting in a bookstore with a known Chinatown gang leader? And why the DEA has you on a bug offering to deliver confidential department information?"
Jack was speechless a moment, his heart trembling during the questions, absorbing the shock and surprise.
"If you have that on tape, you should know I was investigating the Uncle Four shooting."
"And you got shot yesterday, am I correct?"
"Yes," Jack said. "It was only a graze."
"You got shot because of the investigation?"
"I'm not sure it's connected."
"What have you come up with in your investigation?"
"Nothing concrete. I'm working some angles." There was a pause. The men shook their heads, frowning.
"With due respect," Jack said, "the department expects me to solve a crime in seventy-two hours because I'm Chinese?"
The bent-nosed partner, DiMizzio, stepped forward.
"You knew it was illegal to go down into that basement?" he challenged.
"Not in the course of an investigation-"
"Bullshit, Yu. You went down at midnight, twice. That's after your shift and on your own time."
"Yeah, because there's a freeze on overtime, otherwise-"
"Public Morals Division has it under surveillance. Were you aware of that?"
Jack shook his head.
"You might have compromised several ongoing investigations, besides associating with known members of Chinese organized crime."
"He was someone I knew from the neighborhood."
"You saying you have a snitch in the Ghost Legion?"
"I didn't say that."
"That's too bad, he could have been helpful."
Hogan, never taking his eyes offJack, said, "Yeah, we know all about Tat Louie and his punk-ass bullshit. Gambling. Drugs. Extortion. Another On Yee wannabe. Yeah, we know he was shit deep on the Peking Haircut Case. Nine years ago. Remember that?"
Jack remained quiet, staring back, thinking of Wing.
DiMizzio said, "Three Wah Ying gang members butchered in that barbershop on Hester? Stabbed. Shot. Had their dicks cut off?"
"Yeah," Jack answered. "Never caught anyone, did you?"
"No," said Hogan. "The case is still open, but we know Tat was involved. And you two were friends then, correct?"
"I was in the army then."
Hogan smirked, said, "Funny how the Ghosts walked in and took over after that. Never saw another Wah Ying anywhere."
Jack smirked back. "Yeah, well, the world spins like a wheel. What goes around, comes around."
DiMizzio glowered. "What's that? Chinese philosophy? Or are you condoning murder?"
"Just like I said," Jack repeated. "What goes around, comes around. What's your beef? It's my fault you don't know how to close a case?"
"Maybe you know more than you're saying," Hogan snapped. "Maybe you were involved."
"Maybe you should go fuck yourself,"Jack barked.
"Tough guy, huh?" Hogan scowled. "We're going to keep an eye on you."
"Yeah, the way you guys keep an eye on things, I know I got nothing to worry about."
DiMizzio moved closer. "Smartass, worry about this. A lawyer for the Fuk Ching Association has filed a complaint of harassment, claiming you tried to shake them down. What do you say to that?"
"Bullshit. An idiot could see through that."
The captain flashed a look of disgust as Hogan closed the interview.
"We're suspending you, Detective, pending further investigation. Surrender your gun to the captain, and keep yourself available to the department."
Jack handed over the Colt wordlessly as they watched him, then went to clean out his desk, his mind boiling. This is the way they slide me out? The captain wouldn't back him, a four-month transfer cop he'd never really got to know. Inscrutable. Jack knew it.
DiMizzio and Hogan skulked away. The captain banged into his office and slammed the door behind him.
They had betrayed him, after all the hard work he'd put in, Jack fumed. They were going to kill the investigation, let him go down on charges while suspended.
They, they, they. He was unsure where to assign blame, direct his anger, for the shapeless, silent conspiracy of cops and politics all around him.
Fuck them, he thought, he'd figure out his PBA moves when the formal charges came down.
He pulled his knapsack from the locker, was turning to go when the phone rang.
He recognized the woman's voice. Jun Yee Wong is at the Holiday Inn, Los Angeles," she said. "Chinatown."
I know this, he began thinking.
The caller ID flashed (415) 444-8888.
"Room 3M. He will be gone when night falls." The phonecall ended, he heard the dial tone.
Jack ran the area code until it stopped at San Francisco; a woman from the Bay City sending him off to Los Angeles. But if he pulled in the SFPD, he knew everyone might disappear.
He toted the knapsack out of the stationhouse and jumped into the first radio car on line at Confucius Plaza.
"LaGuardia," he said, "and push it."