had anything to do with those two guys getting blown away, the cops are the least of his problems.”
“Any idea who might be a bigger problem for him?”
“Nope,” Chow shook his head. Too quickly. “But the word is that the people who are behind the residence where the two gentlemen were shot are not happy. And when they aren’t happy, it’s not a good thing.” Chow looked at Cobb for the first time. “For anybody.”
Cobb pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket, dropped it on the counter. “If he happens to drop in, or if you see him somewhere or hear about him, I’d appreciate a call.”
Chow picked up the card, crumpled it in his fist. “Nice chatting with you gentlemen.” Still avoiding eye contact with Cobb.
“Thanks, Jackie,” I said.
I looked at Cobb to see if he had anything else he wanted to say or ask. He turned away, not doing a real good job of hiding his disgust. Back out on the street, both of us took deep breaths. Like we were trying to get the place out of our lungs. Bad air out, good air in.
Cobb grunted, “I didn’t like that guy.”
“No one would have guessed. At least now I know who’s who when we do good cop, bad cop.”
“I could use some of that disinfectant you mentioned.”
“The next guy makes Jackie Chow look like Robin Hood.”
Three
“We can walk. It’s not far.” I pointed south on Centre Street, toward downtown.
We stopped at a kiosk where all the publications were in Chinese. I bought two coffees, handed one to Cobb, and we continued walking south, turning left after another block. I thought about how bad the odds were that we’d find a drugged-out kid who didn’t want to be found. On the other hand, Jay Blevins wouldn’t know that some real bad guys might be looking to use him as a lesson in street cred, and he also wasn’t aware of Cobb and me.
So maybe.
“How’d you come to know about this Yik?” Cobb’s eyes were busy, taking in windows on second and third floors, alleys, people passing us, cars on the street. I was reminded that he’d been a cop.
“When I was researching the drug stuff, his name came up a lot. Mid-range importance. Tough guy. Has a lot of people who work for him, more or less.”
“More or less?”
“It’s not like a corporation. Not at this level. No job descriptions, no benefits. You sell for the man, you get paid, you buy to feed your own habit, get wired, wake up, and start over. Yik keeps a set of books, very businesslike; he knows who owes him what and when it’s due on a minute-to-minute basis.”
“Plus he’s got hookers and guns.”
I nodded. “Different sets of books. Same business principles apply.”
“And you have no idea who’s above him?”
“No. I heard lots of names, most of the time from people who knew less than I did. Rumours. Wishful thinking. Pulling names out of thin air, a lot of that.”
“Wishful thinking?” Cobb looked at me.
“Somebody hates somebody, they hope they’re involved in something crooked so that someday they’ll go down. So they suggest that person actually is involved. Sort of start the ball rolling.”
Cobb didn’t get to respond. Yik and two guys, both Caucasian, who looked big enough to play on a defensive line and mean enough to eat people’s pets, came out of a doorway with a sign above it that read, Lam Fong Soon Tong Society. They started toward us and Yik saw me, didn’t recognize me at first; then a glint of recognition came to his face. His mouth moved maybe a millimetre; it wasn’t a smile. Yik wasn’t a smiler.
I tapped Cobb’s arm to let him know that the guy approaching us flanked by two gorillas in expensive suits and overcoats was Yik. He wasn’t wearing a suit but his clothes were designer all the way, topped with a leather coat that went to his knees. It was open to show starched jeans and a western plaid shirt, all a perfect fit, all expensive.
Yik stopped in front of Cobb and me, held out a hand. I shook it.
“Cullen, long time. Last time I saw you, there you were helping me with a bit of cop unpleasantness and now the next time I see you you’re packing a cop with you. Why is that, man?”
“Ex-cop. Private investigator now.” I figured BS’ing Yik would be a bad way to start the conversation. “Mike Cobb, this is Yik.”
“And friends,” Yik indicated the two guys with him. He didn’t offer a hand to Cobb. “I hope you’re not investigating me, Mr. Cobb.”
“No reason to do that that I know of,” Cobb said.
“We’re looking for somebody,” I told Yik. “A kid. Kind of a favour to his dad. He’s worried about the kid.”
Cobb pulled out the picture of Jay Blevins, held it out. Yik took it, made a show of holding it in front of each of the goons, neither of whom took his eyes off Cobb. Yik looked at the photo, shook his head, handed it back to Cobb.
“Sorry,” he said, though his face didn’t look real regretful. “Kid a user?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t help you. See you again Cullen.” He started forward.
“It’s kind of important. If you have any idea where we might look for him.…”
Yik stopped, looked at me, then shook his head and started forward again.
“Uh, one question, I’m also doing a little research. You know me, always working a story, trying to make a buck.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“So about that question….”
He gave me a look I couldn’t read. “One question. All right, I owe you. I’ll give you one question, then we’re even and after that I don’t want to see you again, you hearing me Cullen?”
I nodded. “Fair enough. I was wondering, for the purposes of the story I’m writing, if you could direct me to someone who might know something about the shooting last night. Over in Ramsay. Crack house, a couple of dealers.”
Yik’s face didn’t move but he didn’t answer right away. Thinking. “I know about the incident, Cullen. My advice is you’d better leave it out of any story you’re writing.” He started moving again.
“Come on, Yik. You told me you’d answer one question. That’s my question. Let’s say I was going to mention it in my story, I’d sort of like to have my facts straight, you know.”
Yik’s mouth moved again, about the same amount as last time. “All right, that’s your question. Here’s my answer and I’m giving you this only because of before, you understand what I’m saying here?”
I
