Raw Deal Page 12

  "You ride the magnificent dragon bike," she said, as Bao took off her red leather jacket. "A red and black blouse, I think, and strong pants. Yes, you will look strong and sensuous, very mysterious." She brought out the red. "No, you must wear this jacket. No red will match." She came back out with a blue silk blouse with black cranes with white eyes, and a Mandarin collar. She dragged Bao behind a screen. "Try this. Quickly, I am an old woman, I do not have all day." Bao smiled, took off her golden blouse, and put on the teal. "No," said Mrs. Chang. "Put what you were wearing on again, over this." She did as she was asked, puzzled. "We merge the two, blue silk collar, gold, and black dragons. Take it off." Bao took off the teal one. "Both of them." Bao took off the other one. Mrs. Chang handed her a golden tunic. "Put this on."

  “Okay,” said Bao smiling at the sharpness of the old woman. She did as she was told. It fit beautifully, and made her small breasts look larger.

  "Yes," said Mrs. Chang. "Blue silk collar, the one the Americans call teal. Dragons in black and this teal for their scales. Do not be afraid. It will be done in a short time. Already have dragons, just some work to sew them on." She waved the back of her hand at Bao. "Take off, put on gold blouse you wore again. Then, go away. I must work." She sighed. "I wish I had that tea," she said. "The one from the apothecary down the street. Dragon tea."

  Bao smiled. "I will see if it exists this day."

  Mrs. Chang waved her away. "Much to do. Go away."

  Bao left, a spring in her step, the ball of hurt and anger melting. She went to the apothecary, and Mr. Wu made the dragon tea good for Mrs. Chang's joints. She bought enough for the woman to drink for some time. She had acupuncture while she was there; sparring with Skuld had given her a strain in her knee that even Nico's massage couldn't eradicate. She left smelling of Chinese herbs. She had tea and little cakes in a tea shop, and then went to pick up the tunic. The dragons were on the sleeves. The effect of golden silk, a high teal silk collar, and flowing tunic was stunning. She put it on over her black leather pants, and Mrs. Chang sucked in her breath through her teeth. She did some fussing, but the tunic was stunning.

  "It will do well," said Bao, and gave Mrs. Chang the tea, her favorite little cakes from the tea shop, and actual cash.

  "It is too much for such poor work," said Mrs. Chang.

  "It is stunning, and fit for a dragon lady of old," said Bao. "Quit being so Chinese, accept the compliment and the tea, and shout at me to leave your shop."

  Mrs. Chang waved her hands, complained about all the work she had to do, and sent Bao away. Bao left, the door ringing behind her, and both women let themselves smile.

  Bao went to the little Italian place Nico favored. There were only eight tables. They mysteriously got everyone in and out without ever forming a line, but the restaurant was full, from four in the afternoon with early diners, to well past midnight. All eight tables were together in a horseshoe shape, their corners touching to allow more people to sit at each table. Henry, David, Inola, Bella, Nantan, and Chayton were there. Tito was there with his wife. Skuld and Rota were smiling at her, and Wraith, Saber, and Sigrun sat with them. Ivy, Callie, Hu, Grace, and Damia were at a table. Even Dragon Mama was there, resplendent in red Chinese silk. Bao suspected Mrs. Wang had something to do with that, a dress as an apology.

  And there was Nico, smiling. He took her jacket, and hissed at her tunic. "Dio mio," he said. "You're stunning."

  He led her to the table, and the service began. There were antipasti and caesar salad, followed by platters of lasagna, tortellini alfredo, baskets of fresh rosemary bread, and olive oil and cracked black pepper in which to dip it in. They ate and laughed, and then they were served tiramisu and cannoli. The girls loved the pastries filled with cream and chocolate chips.

  Then Nico stood, and asked Henry, "May I ask permission, for me to ask your daughter to marry me?"

  "Yes," said Henry. Nico turned toward Dragon Mama, and she dipped her head in acknowledgment, and, to Bao's shock, gave permission.

  Then, he knelt, and took a box out of his blue silk suit. Hu visibly put a hand over Grace's mouth. "My love, I promise to be yours, to love and respect you, give you children, and provide for our family." He grinned. "Not that you need my money." There was a ripple of laughter from the table. "Will you marry me, and make me the happiest man..."

  His last word was eaten by her kiss. "Yes," she said, and snatched the box out of his hand. More laughter rippled across the table.

  He took out the ring, and slid it on her finger. It was a ruby surrounded by diamonds. "It took me forever to find Chinese red," he said.

  They kissed again, and everyone clapped. Hu stood and ran to her mother. She hugged her, then bowed to her new father. "Baba," she said.

  He hugged her because he was still kneeling. He took out another ring, and said, "I promise to be an excellent father, to take you places, help you with your homework, teach you to play baseball, and dance. I'll dance at your wedding, God willing. Will you be my daughter?" He slid the ring on her finger.

  "Baba," she said again, tears streaming down her face. He held her close.

  "Grace, get over here," he said. She came skipping over, her face shining, delighted to be included. He took out yet another box, and said, "I promise to be a good dad to you, to teach you Italian, and how to cook, and how to play soccer. Will you be my daughter?"

  She held out her hand to have him slide the ring on her finger. "What do Italians call their dads?"

  "Papi," he said.

  "Papi," she said. He hugged both girls.

  He disentangled himself from the females, stood, and walked over to Damia. He took a scroll out of his pocket. She untied it. "Star's name is on this. My pony." Henry translated her sign.

  "Yes, and she's your pony for evermore," he said. "I paid for all the care she's had in the past, and all she'll need." He spoke in halting sign.

  Damia looked up at him. "She's mine. Not yours?"

  "She's yours," said Nico. He pointed to Damia's name on the line marked "owner." Damia looked at him. "Okay," she said. "My pony forever."

  "Welcome to the family," said Ivy. "That's as demonstrative as she gets." She walked around the table, and they hugged. "If your hurt Bao or Hu in any way, I'll hunt you down and stab you with little silver knives," she whispered in his ear."

  "I would expect nothing less," said Nico.

  Callie hugged him too. "I'm so excited for you two." She stood back. "Wait," she said, looking between Nico and Tito. "Where the he... heck are we going to put more people?"

  Nico smiled. "Well, there's this farmhouse, and it's fine, but the farm's been split and they don't need the house anymore."

  Tito put his head in his hands. "I'm not moving another house," he groaned.

  Nico laughed. "It's a present for my wife on our wedding day," he said. "Don't worry about it. They all laughed, hugged, cried, and went back to Henry's for a little party.

  The Valkyries dragged Bao aside. "Engagement party," said Skuld. "Two weeks."

  "Three," said Wraith. "Should have the paperwork caught up by then."

  Bao nodded. "Good." She looked up, panicked. "I'll need a wedding dress."

  "Another day," said Wraith, hugging her. "Think of it another day." They spilled out of the restaurant, and went off to relax and enjoy the moment.

  Cold Case Hot

  Saber made himself a little bowl of cherry ice, and banged out a couple of reports on his laptop he'd needed to catch up on. He sent them in via the secure server, and then he went over a cold case. There was a truck with firearms slated for demolition, and being moved to a facility outside Las Vegas when they vanished. Both the tracking device on the truck and the tiny RFID chips on the shipment boxes were removed and destroyed. It had to be an inside job, but only three people knew about the shipment, and two were dead.

  The agent that approved the transfer, one of Saber's oldest friends, a beautiful, bright, sunny agent named Evelyn Chomsky, died of an aneurysm in the shower
two hours before the transfer. Noah Momer, the guy that was supposed to check in the truck on the other end, died in a car crash two days later. And the truck driver, Jasper Palliver, who supposedly had no idea what he was delivering, was missing. There was blood splattered in the front of the truck, but no body, with the guard's DNA --but only about the same amount you would donate if you gave blood, not enough to be a body. Saber was the only other person who knew about the transfer, but he found out about it, then went undercover on an op for three weeks. He had neither the inclination nor the time to tell anyone. Neither his phone or his computer were hacked, and neither were the ones at ATF, or the destination. He was determined to figure it out. He put the cold case aside; he would figure it out, someday.

  It drove him fucking nuts to be home but still unable to work. His covers weren't blown; his ribs were still healing. No one would sign for him to come back. He needed to get all his air in his lungs, and be able to fight, anything from a fistfight to a full-on assault with multiple weapons. Most of his work was horrifically boring, pretending to be some sort of human refuse --a minor member of a cult, a drug dealer looking to buy guns to protect his business, a human trafficker willing to move up through murder. Unfortunately, his physical characteristics --his Thai features, prevented him from infiltrating white supremacist groups, buying or selling illegal weapons. He had been "beaten" and "killed" more than once, by agents of various agencies breaking into various groups by committing violence. Better that it be done to an agent with hidden padding and spliffs that burst fake blood into the air on cue, than harming a civilian. He laughed with dark humor to himself. I could do one of those fairly realistically, considering how I look and feel at the moment. He thought about it, then sent a text to his boss. If someone wants to "kill" me, now is the time.

  “I'll check,” he got back.

  He sighed and pulled up another report. At this rate, I'll be caught up for everything for the next six months. He shuddered. Damn well better not be here for the next six months. He did a great deal of research, including work on the so-called, “Dark Web.” This hidden internet could only be accessed by special software and used with hidden, untraceable servers. You could buy and sell all sorts of illegal weapons, and more --even people. It was a favorite place to buy and sell for drug dealers, cultists, human traffickers, end-of-the-world fanatics, arms dealers, and all sorts of... scum and villainy, thought Saber, quoting Star Wars to himself. He used several of his covers to follow and chase down some rather ugly people. He carefully built and maintained identities, "buying" and "selling" from other agents in various agencies to build their own covers in various parts of the country. They carefully moved toward real-world meetings with people with no conscience or empathy, one baby step at a time, in order to lock up those people.

  He looked into the case some more. There was one, very strange weapon on the truck that had been stolen two and a half years --a lifetime ago. It was a Bushmaster semiautomatic pistol. A flat, ugly weapon, it was rare. Production had been stopped in 1988. It had been used to slaughter a family of seven by the husband's jealous ex-girlfriend, and had been disassembled and sent to be melted down. And, there was one for sale on the Dark Web. It might not be the same one, he thought. But, deep in his gut, he knew. He also knew that the seller would use several cutouts. Tracing it back, would be nearly, if not completely impossible. But I've got to try, he thought. He put in a bid, using one of his covers (a small-time arms dealer always looking for a bigger score), for a little over a thousand dollars, and questioning the gun's condition. He knew damn well the gun had damage.

  The answer came back. Scratches left side, some pitting.

  He dropped his bid slightly, but he knew. He knew. It's the same fucking gun. Someone outbid him, and he bid a little higher. His cover persona would have dropped out when the bidding got higher, but he stood firm. He was stunned when he won. Where have you been? he thought. I'm going to find out. Then, he thought, may have to dive deep on this one. I hope Wraith and Sigrid understand.

  Saber bought the Bushmaster on the Dark Web. The serial number had been filed off and the RFID tag removed, but his own personal CSI, Divya Barati, excelled at using acid to get filed-off serial numbers. She had hair the color of blue-black silk, and brown eyes. She always wore coral or jade shirts underneath her lab coat, bringing out her lovely caramel skin.

  She looked down her narrow, patrician nose at him, and over her red-tinted glasses she used to see more clearly. "That's the gun from the robbery," she said. "You have Lina following the money?"

  Saber snorted. "They wanted bitcoins. I was able to pay them in such a way that they left a trail. To Belize, Peru, Madagascar, and back here, to Las Vegas. We know whoever hit them was local, or sold the gun to someone local."

  "Who sold the gun?"

  "Glad you asked," he said. "It's rare, and it's ugly. Not a forgettable gun. So, I traced it to a pawnshop. They tend to fry the images, but Harry Wycraft who runs the pawnshop, he is real-careful. His door-entry shots are archived. He wants to be sure nothing bites him in the butt later. So, we figured on the date for a week after the robbery. Two days later, we get this guy." He showed her the picture on his cell phone.

  "Raymond Aguirre. Started moving some serious shit..."

  "About two years ago," Saber finished his sentence. "Right after the robbery."

  "Well, there you go," said Divya. "What are you doing to get the bastards?"

  "Phone taps, phone interviews, research, sitting on the guy, asking lots of questions. I've done everything I can from afar, online. But, I've had to have other people run things down for me in the physical sense, until now. Now, I need a favor."

  She grinned. "You usually do."

  "I need the serial numbers of all the guns, their photos, and their rifling patterns." He held up a USB. "I'm going fishing."

  "I'll have it to you by the end of the day," she said. She took the USB and looked over her glasses at him. "Now, get out of my ballistics lab." He grinned, and left.

  Having the photos greatly helped him do an internet and Dark Web search using various programs. "Thank the gods for geeks and their little program bombs," he said, after he found two more of the guns.

  One had a flight of three birds carved into its metal handle. It showed up in a dealer's collection in Pahrump. Another had been owned by a meth head with a love for Game of Thrones and a gift for carving in metal. He had spent hours while high carving the entire weapon with dragon scales, and lettered in Dothraki script. He'd found the collector who had bought the gun, someone who created jewelry for the show who had no idea the gun had either been stolen or been slated for demolition. After Saber promised not to repatriate the gun, he verified it was the gun, via a serial number. The collector had bought it on Craigslist online --and retained both an image of the ad and the packaging from two years before. Now, Saber had an address, the fake name of Qotho Zollo (stolen from Game of Thrones), and he was pissed. But, the Game of Thrones thing was an angle. Someone was a fan, or knew someone who was a fan, in order to recognize to who the gun should be sold. He traced back the Craigslist ad to a Stephen Drummond, a computer programmer from Torrance who had relocated to Vegas. He then discovered that Drummond had worked peripherally on the show, working with a costume designer to write a program to imprint Dothraki script, on cloth if need be.

  Drummond was still in Vegas. Saber grabbed Wraith and went for a little ride. The return address on the shipping label for the gun was for a mailbox place. The man running the store recognized Drummond's photo, and gave them Drummond's real address, the one he used to sign up for the box. This took Saber and Wraith to a rundown apartment.

  Wraith covered the rear. He pounded on the door, and said, "ATF!" The guy shimmied out his back window. Wraith pounced, and had him cuffed before Saber went down the stairs and out the back.

  Drummond screamed about police brutality. Saber held up two warrants, one to search the apartment, and one to arrest him. Drummond said, "W
hat the fuck is this about?"

  Saber smiled. "Two people are dead, one is missing, and you sold a stolen gun. A very expensive one. Profiting on the deaths of people..."

  "Who died?" Drummond asked, looking around. "No one died. We just unloaded a truck. Guy drove it right up, then drove up."

  Saber held up a photo of Jasper Palliver. "This the guy?"

  "Yep," said Drummond. "Cold-eyed son-of-a-bitch. Said, why melt them down when you can make money? I recognized the Dothraki and grabbed it first thing." He turned a baleful eye on Saber. "Who would melt down that thing? It's a collector's item!"

  "It was used to kill a guy," said Saber. "Kid killed his older brother over it."

  "Ugh," said Drummond. "Had nothing to do with me."

  "It was evidence, and the case is closed. Kid killed himself in juvie."

  "Ugh," Drummond said again. "Still got nothing to do with me."

  "You sold the gun, dumbass," said Saber. "Let's go to a nice little hole where we can talk."

  FBI Special Agent Stancovic stuck his head out the window. "Hand over the search warrant, Saber," he said. Saber smiled. "Come and get it." He walked into the stairwell, and handed it over. "I'll call you," he said. "Good to get this one closed."

  "You do that," said Saber. He went back out in time to see Wraith put him in a black-and-white for transport. "You wanna hang here, or be there when I interview him?" he asked.

  "It's your show," she said. "Those techies will take a while."

  "We've got to nail arms dealer Raymond Aguirre and driver Noah Mormer." He sighed. "Let's go after our idiot Drummond, and nail those two."

  "Let's go," she said.

  Saber sat quietly in front of Drummond. He'd strategically given the guy two Red Bulls, a Snickers bar, and a pack of M&Ms Peanut. Drummond wiggled his foot and tapped his fingers, so Saber knew he was ready, flying high on caffeine and sugar.