“We got this informant, good at his work. Not everybody can do it, but this guy’s really cut out to be a snitch. He’s smart and he’s angry. You need nerves of steel to penetrate your own community, betray your people. This guy, Cam, has the nerves. Twenty-four years old, born in Laos, and already served three years for knifing a man to death.”
“Three years for murder, that’s all he served?” Nick found that hard to believe. “Obviously he had friends in high places.”
“Nah, nothing like that.” Kappolis paused a moment before going on. “Cam was used by the higher-ups to kill a member of a competing triad. After a year in prison awaiting trial, Cam decided he’d been stupid to maintain his silence, protecting his masters who had hung him out to dry.”
“So he plea bargained to serve only two years?” Nick whistled to himself as he pushed his chair back from the dining table.
“Sort of. He signed a contract to become our snitch. Released last year and already did a couple of assignments for us. Wears a wire. Looks like your average Asian guy in the street. So right after the drive-by we sent him to check out a grocery store in Chinatown II.”
“Oh, yeah. I saw a blurb on some surveillance job in that area that came across my desk,” said Dubois, raising the beer mug to his lips.
“No one told me or my department about this snitch or the surveillance job.” Nick assumed an indignant look.
“At that time Nick, it wasn’t an immigration matter.” Kappolis drained back the rest of his malt before continuing with his story.
“Nick, law enforcement isn’t required to tell Immigration everything,” said Dubois.
“That’s real comforting to know,” answered Nick, looking anything but.
Kappolis pushed a handful of French fries into his mouth. “So we had him under twenty-four-hour surveillance for a full day, the works — an inside inspection by Cam, checks on all movement in and out of the store, and a photographic record. We were across the street in a carpet cleaning van, with a telescopic lens. Every visitor was logged. Anybody who spoke to anybody was monitored were listed.”
“What did you get?” Nick asked impatiently.
“There were shopkeepers making their weekly protection drop offs. The old men, I’m guessing. Some Lo Chien gang members. No sign of the bosses. We waited till all the ducks were lined up. The raid was timed for midnight. We were gonna get them in their own backyard.”
Kappolis wolfed down the rest of his hamburger. “We got photographs taken earlier in the day by the surveillance team. The store was a front for the Lo Chien gang, which was a big player in the extortion and prostitution racket. Cam, the snitch, told me that Lo Chien is trying to muscle in on the people-smuggling racket. The Flying Dragons control it now. All we wanted was information and pictures, and maybe make a strategic arrest or two. The SWAT team was just for intimidation. Nobody was supposed to get killed.”
Nick passed his plate of half-eaten burger to the waitress. He was not hungry.
“But then this red Corvette cruises down the street and two mean-looking Asian guys get out and check out the carpet cleaning van. I got a bad feeling about that, I can tell ya. Then when two more guys climb out of the car with ammunition belts and semi-automatics over their shoulders, I figure guess what, guys, we’ve lost the element of surprise. And less than a minute later, we hear bullets ripping out the windows of parked cars in the back alley where our other guys were.
“So I give the signal, and the SWAT team blows through the front door, returning fire. Then it was all over. A damn miracle, in my book. None of the shopkeepers got killed but all four Lo Chien gang members who returned fire are dead.”
Nick sighed. In his opinion the raid had been a big mistake, and Dubois, who was hearing about it for the first time, looked as if he agreed.
Kappolis was doing his best to placate Nick. “No worries, Nick. The precinct’s got a reward out for snitching on the community. Stuff will come in on the Flying Dragons. Give it time.”
“Problem with that sketch of Li Mann is that he looks like every and any Asian man,” said Dubois.
The conversation paused when the waitress appeared with a pot of fresh coffee. They watched her refill their cups. As soon as she left, Nick said, “All we’ve got is Gee Tung. At this point I’m prepared to plea-bargain with him. Offer him a deal if he betrays his friends.”
“Nick, I wouldn’t trust the quality of his information.” Dubois scowled. “Maybe he led us astray with that sketch of Li Mann. I mean, how else to explain a country-wide arrest warrant on both sides of the border, and we got diddly squat. I wouldn’t trust him. What makes you think scum like that are gonna help us indict their own people?”
Nick threw up his hands. “Then what the fuck have we got? At this point I’m prepared to try anything.”
“When’s the Mandarin Club owner coming in to see you?” asked Dubois.
“Tomorrow morning at nine sharp, with his hired gun.”
“That should be something,” said Kappolis, lighting a cigarette.
“I never count my chickens until they’re hatched.”
“Okay, Nick, I’ll talk to Gee Tung when I get back to Ottawa. But don’t hold your breath. I’m willing to bet good money that composite he gave us was pure bullshit.”
“Even if he’s prepared to deal,” said Kappolis, “how the hell do we know that he isn’t stringing us along just to avoid deportation back to Vietnam? We’ve all seen that script before.”
“True. But why don’t we get the information and then assess the quality of it?” Nick was annoyed and his voice was starting to rise.
“Nick, we ain’t deaf. No need to be shouting the place down,” Dubois said testily.
“I want a conviction in Walter Martin’s death. I want Gee Tung to testify as a key witness in a prosecution case against Li Mann and his cohorts for Martin’s death, smuggling illegals into the country, abusing immigration permits, the drive-by shooting and other triad activities. I’m prepared to cut a deal.”
“That’d be a real deal with the devil, Nick. You want to turn loose one of the snakeheads who killed?”
“I’m not turning anybody loose! It’s a twopronged strategy here, Dubois. You put the squeeze on Gee Tung. I’ll put the squeeze on the Mandarin Club owner. Let’s see what we come up with. That’s all I’m saying,” said Nick, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Just then the national news came on the TV over the bar. The police raid was the lead story. The restaurant owner turned the sound up slightly and the two men turned to watch. Store windows blown-out. Police cruisers pockmarked with bullet holes. Body bags wheeled into ambulances. Nick couldn’t take any more of it. He got up and changed the channel on the television, pissing off a handful of pub patrons.
“So much for trying to squeeze the competition for information on Li Mann and Sun Sui. Couldn’t your boys have taken one of those Lo Chien thugs alive?” asked Nick.
“When the bullets are coming at you, you don’t think about saving one thug
