John Chen
JOHN CHEN was terrified after Pike called. He was so scared he thought he might toss his cookies; Pike on the phone, not even waiting for an answer, just growling out the threat-
“Meet me outside in an hour.”
Yeah. Right.
First thing Chen did was run to the bathroom. He was convinced Pike was going to kill him. Pike probably blamed him for losing the guns, and would probably beat him to death in full view of everyone.
Chen paced in the bathroom for over an hour, sweating buckets, getting on and off the pot, trying to figure out what to do. He considered asking the security guards to follow him to his car, but decided the only chance he had of talking his way out of it was by pretending everything was cool. Make like he could get back the guns. Make up a believable lie.
Chen crept out of the bathroom, made his way to the lobby, and peered through the glass doors into the parking lot. He saw his ’tangmobile easily enough, but he did not see Pike, or Pike’s red Cherokee, or the green Lexus Pike used to shag the hottie. Chen stepped outside, glanced back inside at the waiting area, then scanned the parking lot again.
Still no Pike.
Chen wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe Pike had already come and gone. Maybe Pike had not yet arrived, and Chen could still get away!
Chen sprinted for the ’tangmobile. He hadn’t planned to run; he just ran. He flat-out hauled ass, wheezing and puffing after only fifty feet, but stoked on adrenaline. Chen jabbed his remote ’cause he had it made – he was home free, MOTHERFUCKER!! – and was throwing open that beautiful German-built door when-
– Pike spoke behind him.
“John.”
“Ahh!”
Chen jumped sideways, but Pike once again caught him and held the door.
“Get in.”
Pike was carrying a black backpack. Chen was certain it contained a gun.
Chen latched onto the door like a cat clinging to a sofa, the nervous tic under his eye popping in spasms.
Chen said, “Please don’t kill me.”
Pike pointed inside.
“Don’t be stupid. Get in.”
Pike pushed him in, then went around to the passenger side. Chen couldn’t take his eyes off the backpack.
“I know how this works. You’re going to take me someplace deserted. You’re going to shoot me in the head-”
Pike said, “Breathe.”
Chen couldn’t stop talking. The words rushed out with no more thought than his decision to run.
“The feds took the guns. I would have run them, honest to God. I didn’t have anything to do with-”
One moment Chen was talking; the next, Pike’s hand clamped his mouth like a vise.
Pike said, “You’re my friend, John. You don’t have to be afraid. Can I let go now?”
Chen nodded. His friend?
Pike let go. He opened the backpack, then held it out. Chen thought it might be a trick guys like Pike were always playing on guys like him; you look in the bag and a snake jumps out.
Chen slowly peeked into the bag, ready to jump, but it wasn’t a snake.
“What is this?”
“Guns the feds don’t know about and two sets of fingerprints.”
Chen peered into the bag but touched nothing. He saw two small glasses in plastic sleeves, and what appeared to be two 9mm pistols, both pocked with rust and beat to hell. He knew right away from their shabby condition they were street guns; guns that had been stolen many years earlier, then traded for dope or sold, then sold or traded again, passing from scumbag to scumbag. He also saw three spent shell casings.
“Where did you get this stuff?”
“The feds who confiscated the guns-did you get their names?”
Pike had ignored his question.
“Pitman. Pitman and something else.”
“Blanchette?”
“I don’t know. Harriet didn’t remember.”
Chen glanced back at the shell casings. Their once-gleaming brass was scorched, and the backpack smelled of burnt gunpowder. Chen began to feel afraid again, but not afraid Pike would beat him to death; afraid of something deeper. Chen found Pike watching him. John saw himself reflected in Pike’s dark glasses as if they were reflecting pools. In a weird way he would later wonder about, Chen grew calm. Here was Pike, calm there in the water, and his calmness spread to Chen.
John settled back.
“Are there more bodies to go with these guns?”
“Two.”
“Are they connected with Eagle Rock and Malibu?”
“Yes. LAPD is on the scene now. Shots were fired, so they’ll know guns are missing, but they won’t know who has them. Bullets will be recovered, and those bullets will match one of these guns-the Taurus-but not the other.”
Chen nodded, taking it in. If his shift hadn’t ended when it did, he might have rolled out to the crime.
“If the feds knew we had these guns, would they take them?”
“Yes, but they won’t know. Only you and I know, John. You’re going to have to make a choice.”
Chen didn’t understand.
“Choice about what?”
“Seven men are dead. The Department of Justice is involved. Here we are with these guns. Least case, you could be looking at obstructing a federal investigation. Worst case, accessory to homicide.”
Chen still didn’t understand.
“What are you saying?”
“Tell me you want no part, I’ll walk away.”
Chen was stunned. He was flabbergasted.
“Wait. Waitaminute. You’re giving me a choice?”
“Of course, it’s your choice. What did you think?”
Chen stared at Pike and wondered how Pike could be so calm. His impassive face; his even voice. He studied Pike, and once more saw himself in Pike’s glasses, two faces in one. In that moment, Chen remembered a meditation pool he once saw at a Buddhist monastery, its surface flat, featureless, and perfect. Chen was six years old. His uncle brought him to the monastery, and Chen had been fascinated by the pool. The mirrored surface was absolutely smooth; no leaf, no mote of dust or insect marred it; no breeze stirred its face. The pool was so like a mirror that Chen could not see beneath the surface, and believed it was no more than a few inches deep. His uncle turned away, and Chen decided to jump. It was a hot day in the San Gabriel Valley, and Chen was only six. He wanted to splash in the cool water and run to the other side. Only an inch or two deep. As empty as glass. Chen readied himself to leap, but in that moment the surface roiled and a monster reached for him, scaled in glistening armor. Red, black, and orange plates, shimmering and horrible; it broke the surface with frightening power and then it was gone. A koi, his uncle later told him, when Chen stopped crying; but the lesson was not lost on John Chen, even at six years old. A calm surface could hide great turmoil.
Chen said, “What’s going on?”
“I’m trying to find out. I think the feds confiscated your evidence to hide something. If they knew about these guns, they would confiscate them, too.”
“This is tied in with Eagle Rock and Malibu?”
“Yes.”
Chen stared down at the guns again.
“The firearms analysts are specialists, man. What they do, it isn’t just science-it’s an art. She’s already gone home.”
“First thing tomorrow.”
“I can’t just walk in, here’s two guns. I need a case number.”
“Use the Eagle Rock number.”
“She knows the feds took those guns. She’s the one who told me.”
“Tell her you got them back. Make up something, John. It’s important.”
Chen knew it was important. Everything Pike and Cole brought to him had been important.
He looked into the backpack again.
“What are the glasses, the fingerprints? Or you want me to print the guns?”
“The men who used these guns will end up with the coroner, but the coroner won’t be able to identify them. You will.”
Chen shook his head.
“I can lift the prints and run them, but it’s all the same database. Live Scan is Live Scan. If the coroner didn’t pull a hit, neither will I.”
“These people aren’t in the database. They came from Ecuador.”
Chen glanced at the glasses again. A standard NCIC/Live Scan search was not a worldwide search. An international search required a special request, and even then you pretty much had to request each search by country. No single worldwide database existed, so if you didn’t know where to look, you were shit out of luck.
Pike said, “Can you do that, John?”
“This is something big, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Big, and getting bigger.”
Chen chewed at his upper lip as he thought through what he would have to do, both for the guns and the prints. He was pretty sure he could get LaMolla to run the guns; she was still bat-shit furious with the feds for taking her toys, and doubly furious that neither Harriet nor Parker would tell her why. LaMolla would run the guns just to fuck them over.
Chen said, “I can do this. I’ll take care of it.”
Pike got out and walked away.
Chen stared after him, thinking Pike wasn’t so bad when you got to know him. Not so scary, even though, well, you know, he was scary.
You’re my friend, John.
Chen lifted out the glasses. He held them up, one by one, and saw the clean definition of fingerprint smudges even through the plastic wrappers. Chen smiled. The coroner had five unidentified stiffs, and now he would have two more. Everyone would be scratching their heads, wondering who in hell these guys were, but they wouldn’t know-
– until John Chen told them.
Chen smiled even wider.
The guns would keep until tomorrow, but now was the best time for the glasses. The lab crew was reduced, Harriet was gone, and no one would ask what he was doing. Chen stuffed the guns under his seat, locked his car, and hurried inside with the glasses.
Chen wanted to identify these guys, not only for himself and what he would get from it, but for Pike. He did not want to let down his friend Joe Pike.