I was a King, he knew we were with Sinaloa. He said I could pick up some cash, you know? I didn’t say I was on the outs, uhn. I just let him talk, tucking it away, thinking about Raoul. I said, dude, you crazy, you know Sinaloa wants to kill that Syrian bitch? But Wander, he says he feeds tips to all these cartel bajadores, and they killin’ each other left and right. He said the Syrian, he pays a lot more. He told me if I get something to sell, he can make it happen, put good money in both our pockets.”
I studied Fredo.
“You think it’s true, that Wander sells to the Syrian?”
Fredo shrugged.
“He drives a nice car. He’s got a silver buckle big as a plate, and a fat rock here on his thumb. I been asking. He’s been paying people for tips, that much is true. He’s gettin’ cash somewhere, so I’m thinkin’ the rest is true, too.”
Locano said, “When the Sinaloas came up, you said they called the Syrian’s name.”
“Uhn. Ghazi al-Diri. It was hard to say in my mouth, but I practiced to make it right. Ghazi al-Diri killed my brother, Raoul, shot him two times right here.”
He touched his head again.
I said, “If I wanted to see Wander, could you find him?”
Fredo studied me, and did not look away.
“What would you say?”
“I might have something for the Syrian. I might want to meet him.”
Fredo nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Why he wanna meet you?”
I didn’t have much to say, so Fredo shrugged.
“Lots of people trying to find him, and can’t, uhn. Just ’cause you say you want to see him don’t mean shit. Why he want to see you? You gotta give him a reason.”
“I’ll find a reason.”
“It’s gotta be good. He ain’t in business to mess around.”
“I’ll find a good reason. What I’m asking is, can you put me with Wander?”
Fredo kicked at the ground, then looked at the lake.
“I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout this thing Wander told me, him being up with this Ghazi al-Diri, trying to figure out what to do. I could give him up to the Kings, give him to the Sinaloas-they all want his ass dead. But here I am trying to get right. I have to put this stuff behind me.”
I nodded. I knew where he was going.
He looked at Locano.
“Mr. L, he says you’re trying to find some girl this dude took?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Okay, I’ll help you do that. Raoul and I, we can help. If I help get her back, maybe it helps me get right with myself. You see?”
“I see, Fredo. I get it, for real.”
He seemed to notice the flour on his upper arms for the first time. He brushed at his arms and neck and face.
“I look like a clown.”
Locano said, “No, Fredo. From this flour you make bread, and bread gives us life. This is not the makeup of a clown.”
Fredo fluffed his hair, and squinted at me through the dust.
“I gotta get to school. You find a good reason. Find a reason so good the Syrian can’t pass it up, I’ll put you with Wander, uhn.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Fredo offered his hand again, shook with Mr. Locano, and then trotted up along the lake. I watched him until he was gone, then looked at Locano.
Mr. Locano had watched him leave, too, and now sighed.
“That boy is fourteen years old. He is only fourteen.”
I told him I would let him know soon, then drove across town to meet with Joe Pike and Jon Stone, hoping we would find something so good the Syrian could not pass it up.
22
Jon Stone leaned forward between us, and pointed a chopstick at the two men climbing into the Beemer. He was eating bulgogi heaped with kimchee. Bulgogi was thinly sliced barbequed beef in a bowl, which Stone had covered with a sweet, fire-hot mound of pickled cabbage. Stone knew the best barbeque places in K-town. He also knew the best bars, karaoke clubs, restaurants, and markets. He had bought me a galbi bowl filled with barbequed short ribs, and Pike a bowl of grilled vegetables and rice. Jon Stone was a K-town regular, and had spent the morning before I joined them speaking with friends.
Stone touched the air with the tip of his chopstick as if he was dotting an i with a quill pen.
“Your talker there, he’s Sang Ki Park. He doesn’t run the gang. That would be his uncle, Young Min Park. Sang is the second in command. They’re Ssang Yong Pa-the Double Dragon gang-straight out of the R-O-K. Hard-core and nasty.”
ROK was the Republic of Korea.
I watched the men as I listened. The big guy I put on the floor in the desert opened the Beemer’s door for the hard young guy who had done all the talking, then climbed in behind the wheel.
“Hard-core and nasty as in violent?”
“That’s affirm. All your Asian gangs are bad, but the Koreans are worse. It’s China. You grow up staring down China, it fucks with your brain.”
Pike said, “Please.”
“Please what? Remember those ex-ROK troopers in Africa? Why’d you send’m home?”
Stone turned to me before Pike could answer.
“The company sends us these three ex-ROK Special Forces turds who did nothing but fight. I’m not talking about fighting the people we were paid to fight, I’m talking about our own guys, the friendlies, even each other. Fuckers loved to fight. Pike here damn near killed two of them before he sent them home.”
Stone looked at Pike.
“If I’m lying, I’m dying. Am I right?”
Pike simply stared ahead as we followed the Beemer, so Stone turned back to me.
“You see? He knows it’s true. These fuckers are pit bull aggressive. You want more of this kimchee? It’s the best.”
I held up my bowl, and thought about it as Jon shoveled on kimchee. He was right about the kimchee. It was world-class spectacular.
“Sanchez told me they paid Sinaloa two hundred grand to bring up their people. You think they’ll pay the Syrian’s ransom?”
“Not in their nature. Your Syrian’s gonna be stuck with twenty or thirty people no one will pay for. And the Sinaloas are shit out of luck, too, ’cause if these boys here don’t get their money or people, they’ll go all World War Three.”
Rudy Sanchez had already told me the Sinaloas were worried, and worry wasn’t something normally associated with the Sinaloa drug cartel.
Pike glanced at Stone in the mirror.
“Why bring in so many people?”
“They need’m.”
I said, “For what?”
“Staff. The Dragons have been buying bars and restaurants as fronts for dealing dope and whores. They cater
