Stealing the Dragon

Yan took the hint. “Yes…yes. You wanted to talk about the ship.”

“If you don’t mind.”

Yan nodded.

“The people onboard,” began Cape. “Where would they have gone if the ship had docked the way it was supposed to?”

“You mean if they hadn’t been caught?”

“Yes.”

Yan hesitated, so Cape forged ahead. “I know they would have been taken to some sort of safe house,” he said, watching Yan for a reaction. “Maybe several houses in Chinatown. And they would have stayed there until they worked off their debt.”

Yan raised his eyebrows again. “You’ve done some homework.”

Cape shrugged. “That’s my job.”

“And who did you say your client was?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might,” said Yan, his eyes cautious.

“Didn’t you say the refugee ship was ‘a crisis affecting not only Chinese, but every taxpaying resident of San Francisco’?”

Yan’s mouth twitched, as if he had started to frown, before managing another smile. “Was that in the Chronicle?”

Cape nodded. “Right on the front page.”

Yan pursed his lips. Cape knew what was going through his mind. He looked directly at Yan, making sure he had full eye contact before he spoke.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not a reporter-I used to be-but I’m not here to burn you. You’re in the midst of a political campaign-I understand that.”

Yan smiled briefly, his body language more relaxed. “Are you saying this is off the record?”

“There is no record,” replied Cape. “You didn’t have to see me in the first place, and I appreciate that. You want me to leave, just say the word.”

Yan looked out his window before turning back to face Cape.

“Ask your questions,” he said.

“You’re putting a lot of heat on the mayor,” said Cape.

“He deserves it,” said Yan matter-of-factly.

“There’s a rumor he’ll step down,” said Cape. “Maybe not run against you, but nominate someone in his place.”

Yan shrugged. “There are a lot of rumors in this town,” he said, noncommittal. “Like charges of police corruption.”

“You saying the charges are bogus?” asked Cape.

“I’m saying it’s quite a coincidence,” said Yan. “I’ve suggested the current administration is corrupt, and yet the only scandal making the headlines has to do with Chinese police officers.”

“Which reflects on the entire Chinese community,” said Cape, finishing the thought. “So the politics are about race.”

Yan shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “The current mayor is black, so it’s not as simple as racial innuendoes or exploiting hidden bias in the voters. That only works when one of the candidates is white, at least in this city.”

“So?”

“It’s about reinforcing a perception that the Chinese in this city are somehow them, while everyone else is us. You set up a strong enough us-versus-them dynamic, and that could carry the election. The Chinese are isolated, different…many don’t even speak English….you get the idea.”

“So even when there’s a scandal in the current administration,” said Cape, “it somehow hurts your campaign, not the mayor’s.”

“The mayor is a smart man,” said Yan admiringly, his eyes bright with either envy or ambition. Cape couldn’t tell.

“With the Chinese cops sidelined during the investigation,” said Cape, “it makes it kind of tough to get a handle on the refugees and the ship.”

“I was going to ask if you already talked to the police,” said Yan.

“Some,” replied Cape. “But I wouldn’t be here if they had it all figured out.”

Yan chewed on his lower lip. “You look honest.”

“It’s the blue eyes,” said Cape.

Yan laughed. “All right,” he said. “I won’t pretend Chinatown is a utopia. Most of our residents are hard- working, honest families, doing what they must to survive. But I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that some of our residents are less law-abiding than others.”

“Like Freddie Wang,” suggested Cape.

Yan laughed again. “It seems you know more about Chinatown than you’ve let on, detective.”

Cape shrugged. “I’m ignorant, but not naive. Freddie hasn’t kept the lowest profile over the years.”

“True,” said Yan. “Wang is a local gangster, plain and simple. He deals in drugs, among other things. But I imagine you know all that.”

“Rumor has it Freddie heads a tong,” said Cape, “that controls all the heroin coming in from Asia.”

Yan snorted. “Tong?” he said scornfully. “Do you know what a tong is, Mister Weathers?”

Cape shook his head. “Just what I’ve read-Chinese organized crime.”

“Indeed,” said Yan. “That’s very true, in some cases. But tong simply means chamber-a meeting place. It’s a blanket term to refer to any large organization, fraternity, or business association.”

Cape recalled the plaque outside. “Like the Chinese Merchants Benevolent Association?”

“Exactly,” said Yan, nodding. “A group of local merchants joined together to pool resources. They share business contacts, legal services, and make loans to members at favorable rates. The association allows Chinese businesses to become competitive. There are many such associations in Chinatown-ours has been in existence almost one hundred years.”

“I don’t think Freddie Wang is making loans at favorable rates,” replied Cape.

“Neither do I.” Yan smiled, a cynical look on his face. “But he’s got his own organization. He’s not a member of ours.”

“But why do you tolerate him?” asked Cape. “It can’t be good for the community, for that legitimacy you want.”

Yan spread his hands. “Our resources are limited,” he said. “That’s like asking why the Italian community tolerates the Mafia, or why the city police can’t stop prostitution.”

“OK.”

“We have an understanding with the tongs,” said Yan. “We have to live in the same neighborhood, after all.”

“But if someone in the Chinese community was involved with hiding the refugees-” began Cape.

“It would be Freddie Wang,” said Yan. “That’s my guess.”

“I was hoping you’d point me somewhere else,” said Cape, frowning. “I’ve talked to Freddie before, and it wasn’t what you’d call a cordial conversation. I don’t think he’ll talk to me.”

“He will if I tell him to,” said Yan confidently.

“Is that part of your understanding?” asked Cape.

Yan shrugged. “I’ll tell him what you told me-you don’t want to cause trouble, you just want some information. It could be much worse for Freddie if you just started knocking on doors in the neighborhood, asking questions.”

“That was my next step,” replied Cape, “if I wasn’t able to talk to you.”