Stealing the Dragon

breakfast?”

Williams chuckled. “That was smooth,” he said. “OK, I’ll get the tab if you answer some questions.”

“Go ahead and ask,” replied Cape amiably. “But I can’t make any promises.”

“You’ve been talking to Freddie Wang,” said Williams matter-of-factly.

Cape didn’t say anything at first, his face deadpan. An image of the corpse in his trunk flashed into his mind.

“Since that was a statement and not a question,” said Cape slowly, “I’m not really sure what you’re asking.”

Before Williams could answer, Special Agent Dickerson and the waiter arrived simultaneously. The scowl on Dickerson’s face suggested he didn’t approve of dining with suspected felons, but Williams gestured toward the chair next to Cape.

“Got you French toast,” he said amiably.

Dickerson’s scowl faltered as he sat down. It was hard to stay mad in the face of French toast.

Williams nodded toward Cape but looked at Dickerson. “Mister Weathers here was just telling me what he and Freddie Wang had to discuss.”

“Freddie’s a bookie,” said Cape tentatively.

“Among other things,” replied Williams, clearly not taking the bait. “You saying you’re placing bets with Freddie?”

“What?” said Cape. “You don’t think I’m a gambler?”

“Oh, I’d say you’re a gambler, all right,” replied Williams, “otherwise we wouldn’t be havin’ breakfast together. But I doubt you’re placing any bets with Freddie.” He smiled before adding, “But you didn’t expect me to believe that, did you?”

Dickerson shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with the friendly tone of the conversation, but said nothing. His mouth was full of French toast.

Cape spread his hands. “I was talking to him about the refugee ship,” he said simply. “But you already figured that, too, right?”

Dickerson coughed, turning in his chair to face Cape. He swallowed rapidly and tried to clear his throat, but Williams held his hand up, palm out.

“Eat your breakfast, Jimmy,” he said, his eyes never leaving Cape’s. “Go on.”

Cape shrugged again. “I want to know what happened on that ship.”

“You got a client?”

“Sure,” said Cape, holding Williams’ gaze. Liars always blink, and they always look away.

“Who?” demanded Dickerson, having recovered from his near-death experience with the French toast.

Williams cut him off again. “Doesn’t matter, Jimmy. Besides, I doubt even Mr. Weathers is that cooperative.”

Cape smiled.

“So here’s the deal,” said Williams, leaning forward to sip at his coffee. “This is a federal case, with lots of important people expecting guys like us,” he jutted his chin forward, indicating Dickerson, “to find the bad guys, quick. In case you’re not up on current events, the State Department has an interest in keeping things nice and friendly with the Chinese.”

“I read the paper,” replied Cape, “and, despite my view of most politicians, I even pay my taxes. So why don’t we move past the foreplay and you tell me what you have in mind.”

Williams leaned back in his chair and nodded. “What did Freddie have to say for himself?”

“You don’t have his place bugged?” asked Cape.

Williams didn’t respond.

“He didn’t say anything directly,” replied Cape, “but he suggested I follow up on the cargo.”

“And you did?”

“That’s why I was next door,” said Cape, “visiting Michael Long of GASP jeans. It was his shipment, his cargo.”

Williams nodded. “Another pair of agents is going to see him later today.”

“I doubt it,” replied Cape. “The cops are headed this way to pick him up.”

Williams sat forward in disbelief. “What did he tell you?”

“It wasn’t exactly a confession,” replied Cape, “but it was enough.”

Dickerson banged his fist on the table, the suddenness of it like a gunshot in the small restaurant. In the silence that followed, all three men heard the sound of sirens coming toward them.

Williams started laughing.

“Son of a bitch,” he said as he fished some money out of his wallet. “You coulda mentioned that when we sat down.”

“Then you wouldn’t have bought me breakfast,” said Cape.

“True,” said Williams. “Just one more question, cowboy.”

“Shoot.”

“You done with this?” Williams asked. Cape knew he wasn’t talking about breakfast.

“Just getting started,” replied Cape. “I don’t know where it’s going, but I’m definitely not done yet.”

Williams nodded. “Then neither are we,” he said. “We’ll be talking to the cops and see what comes next-see if this Michael Long has anything to say.”

“You get him motivated,” replied Cape, “and he’ll talk.”

“You did strike me as the motivational type,” said Williams.

“That’s me,” said Cape, “a regular Anthony Robbins.”

“That’s why I bought you breakfast,” said Williams. “See, Jimmy and I have to follow the rules-and the rules for the feds are even worse than for the cops. So by the time we get an assignment, the necessary clearance, and the warrants-the clues have faded and the suspect has fled the vicinity.”

“Must be frustrating.”

“It pretty much sucks,” agreed Williams, who seemed untroubled as he said it. “But a man like you, he can do whatever he wants. By the time I get a warrant and coordinate with the local authorities, you’ve come and gone.”

“And had breakfast,” added Cape.

“Exactly.”

“That’s one of the few advantages to being me.”

“I don’t give a shit about your case,” said Williams. “And I don’t expect you to give a shit about mine. But having looked at your background, I think you’re straight.”

“Thanks.”

“So I want you to call me.”

“What if I told you I was more inclined to call the cops?”

“They ever buy you breakfast?”

“Once or twice.”

“Go ahead and call them,” said Williams. “Like I said, I don’t give a shit. Just don’t leave me out in the cold.”

“What’s my motivation?” asked Cape.

“Well, Mr. Anthony Robbins,” replied Williams, “how about this: you could have a friend with the feds, or you could be an asshole.”

“Do I have to choose now?” asked Cape.

Williams smiled and shook his head.

“And what if you find something?” asked Cape. “You saying you’ll return the favor?”

Williams held up his hands. “Can’t promise that,” he said. “National security, all that shit. But I’ll say this-you call me, and I promise you won’t be the only one doing the talking.”

Cape nodded and stood to leave. He held out his hand. Williams extended his own and shook.

“Thanks for breakfast,” said Cape.

“It’s the taxpayer’s money,” replied Williams. “So in a way, you bought me breakfast.”

“Swell.” Cape nodded at Dickerson, who sat sullenly chewing the last of his French toast. Cape wondered