Killers choice, p.10
Killer's Choice, page 10
This information surprised me. Why hadn’t Heidi told me that her brother and his family lived in Hong Kong? Had she not gone to see them? As an only child, I have a tendency to assume that brothers and sisters are always on the best of terms with each other. This could be a case of siblings who didn’t get along.
We were surprised but naturally happy to see them, Jon continued. No, that’s an understatement. Helen was ecstatic. Then first thing this morning, Mike asked to see me alone and said he’s in very big trouble. He has just received yet another threatening call from a group trying to collect money on behalf of a Macao casino, where he lost big at blackjack. What do you mean big, I asked, and why haven’t you paid? About two and a half million dollars U.S., Mike told me, and (a) I don’t have the money, and (b) the dealer was cheating. He was using a fucking rigged shoe! I know you don’t understand it, Dad, but trust me. I’ve been around, and I can tell. The SOB was cheating! So why did you go on, I asked, why didn’t you go to the management or the police or wherever you go in such a case? I did stop, Mike replied. I got up and told the bastard I wanted to inspect the shoe. The other players all got up too, a bunch of Chinks. They were really riled up. The SOB told me to shove it, and I guess pressed some button to call the private casino cops. They grabbed me and hustled me to the manager’s office. You don’t argue with guys like that or try to fight your way out. I’d established credit at that shithole casino, so they knew I was basically good for the money and didn’t even listen when I complained. The head Chink just said, Mr. Krohn, you settle up within forty-eight hours. That’s the house rule. I hightailed it out of there, Dad, and out of Macao, and got Lilly, Jonjon, myself, and the nanny on the first flight out of Hong Kong I could book, and we came here. Where else was I supposed to run? I’m scared, Dad, I’m scared. When they called me on my cell phone today, they said they knew where I was. Your father’s house in East Hampton! Somehow, they figured it out. We didn’t tell anyone where we were going. Not Jonjon’s nanny, we just put her on the plane, not the housekeeper, no one at the office. Literally, no one. We said we’d be back soon, that’s all. And now the guy who called said if I don’t pay what I owe plus the fine and expenses they’ll take Jonjon. Jesus, Dad! What are we going to do?
How much will that be? I asked Mike, Jon continued. They said five million today, and it will be six million tomorrow and growing, so you better pay up, he told me. And I don’t even know how to pay! The guy who called—you should have heard him, a fucking Chink asshole with a thick accent—didn’t say. He said, Just get the money ready. In Bitcoin.
After Mike told me this story, my first move was to call my head of security and tell him we had better put his men on alert. So that’s done. We’ve got a bunch of guys on duty. But that can’t go on. Can’t keep Mike and his family under lock and key forever, much as I’d like to. So I’ve come to you for help! For advice!
Do you know what casino Mike was at?
Yes, Star Casino.
And did the guy who called him say he works for Star?
No, he said specifically that the case was referred to them for collection. Don’t bother with the casino. We’re Yellow Flower.
You think I know about this sort of thing, Jon, I said, but the fact is I don’t. All I know is that Mike seems to be in big trouble. Let me talk to my friend Feng.
Yes, your Chinese houseman. Heidi has told me about him.
That’s right. But before he came to the States he was a member of a crack Hong Kong police unit. He knows all about the Hong Kong scene and, I imagine, Macao, and I know he still has a lot of friends on the force in Hong Kong. If you like, I’ll talk to him right now, and see if he has any ideas.
Feng must have shopped for our dinner. I found him in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables.
Lemon chicken, sir, and a spicy mixed-vegetables casserole, he told me. If you will allow me, sir, I’ll take Satan out for a little walk as soon as I finish this. I need only ten minutes.
He waved his hand over the chopping board.
I thought we’d all three go for a walk on the beach, I replied, but first I must finish with Mr. Krohn. He has told me a terrifying story, and if you can stop your work for a moment I’ll tell you what it’s about. We need your advice.
Feng listened carefully, occasionally cracking his knuckles, a sign, I had learned, of considerable distress.
This is very bad, he said, finally. Star Casino. Bad reputation even when I was on the force. Yellow Flower. A new triad. After the war. Moved to HK from Shanghai. It was small then. I don’t know the size now. Really bad people. No honor.
It sounded bad, I replied. Will you come and talk to Mr. Krohn? He’s a good man.
It didn’t take long for Feng to repeat, with some needed elaboration, what he had told me.
What should I do, then, Mr. Feng, Jon asked, what is your advice?
These are very dangerous people, sir. I understand you have security people working for you. Perhaps you need to bring in more security. They should watch not only Mr. Michael Krohn and his wife and little boy, but also you and Mrs. Krohn and Miss Heidi.
Understood, said Krohn. And the police?
Did the people Mr. Michael spoke to say anything about the police?
I don’t think so, replied Jon. He didn’t mention it.
Usually kidnappers and enforcers like Yellow Flower say, Don’t go to the police. Perhaps the person who spoke to Mr. Michael isn’t experienced and was picked to speak to him because he speaks English. There is a risk in going to the police, but this isn’t a kidnapping case. They haven’t got a kidnapped person they can hurt if you disobey.
Not yet, was the thought that went through my head.
So I think that probably it will be good to tell the police. Probably the FBI.
Jim Comey, the director who is my friend, has been fired, mused Jon. So too bad. I still haven’t gotten through to the deputy. But I know one or two people who should be close to him. I’ll try to get put through. Tell me, Mr. Feng, should we pay these people?
Mr. Krohn, excuse me, please, I have been away from Hong Kong many years now and I have no current information. With your permission, I will call friends this evening and get advice. What I say now is stale knowledge. We used to think Yellow Flower aren’t reliable people. If you pay an old, established triad you can be sure: you pay up; they leave you alone. With Yellow Flower, as it used to be, you can’t be sure. There is risk. But it is safer to pay. If Mr. Michael Krohn decides to pay, he should get very complete instructions from the people who call him, and say, I will pay and I will let the casino know I am paying. But with your permission, sir, I can give better information late this evening or tomorrow.
Please do call your friends and thank you for telling me all this.
Jon, Feng, I interjected suddenly. A question: How does a triad like that, one that isn’t all that established, operate in the U.S.? How do the triad members come into the country? I don’t understand.
You’re right, sir, Feng answered. They can’t do anything here unless they have members already living in this country. An old triad has members here. Yellow Flower—unlikely. They would partner with a gang, kidnappers, or killers that operate in this country.
I see, I said. Since this affects Heidi’s family, and she is also under threat, I think I must tell Joe Edwards about it. Joe, I added, is the FBI special agent I’ve been talking to. I think I’ve mentioned him to you, Jon.
Yes, I remember, the one I was going to mention to the deputy director, Jon said. And I think you’re right. And, Mr. Feng, he continued, I’m most grateful to you. If your friends agree with your advice, we will follow it. We will step up security, we will call the police, and we will pay. Let’s talk as soon as you’re ready. Mrs. Krohn and I will be at home this evening, and you and Mr. Dana shouldn’t hesitate to call me late. As late as eleven-thirty or midnight is all right. I’m sure I’ll want to keep consulting with you and Mr. Dana, but I have to tell you that I already feel a little better, a little calmer. And now I should go home, before Helen starts to wonder what I’m doing. She realizes that something is wrong, but neither Michael nor I have told her that Jonjon is in danger.
As he got up to leave, my burner cell phone rang. The only people who called me on it were Heidi (but at this hour it was nighttime in Tokyo, and she should be asleep), Scott, and Joe Edwards.
Excuse me, Jon, I said. I had better answer.
It was Joe.
Captain Dana, sir, he said, I want to give some annoying news. Instructions have come down from management to lift the protection we’ve been providing you. The basis is that there hasn’t been any overt incident or threat. I thought you ought to know this. I’m truly sorry.
Thanks for telling me, I replied, but please don’t worry about it. Feng and I will manage just fine. I’m curious though: So far as your management was concerned, the thugs with cudgels in the park don’t count? Or the incident with the attack Rottweiler doesn’t count?
That’s right. With respect to the incident in the park, they call it an attempted mugging. As for the stuff with the Rottweiler, they say that since you didn’t call the police it was most likely just a dogfight.
I see. Have you got a few minutes? I was about to call you when you rang. There is something new that I think you should know about. Is this a good time to talk?
Jon Krohn nodded energetically, encouraging me.
Since Joe said he had all the time I needed, I related as succinctly as possible, without sacrificing significant details, Jon Krohn’s story and Feng’s take on it.
This is very bad, said Joe. Really bad. Did you say that Mr. Krohn will report all of this to the Bureau?
Jon jumped in.
Yes, Mr. Edwards, this is Jonathan Krohn speaking. Yes, I will report this to the Bureau, I hope through the deputy director’s office, and, depending on what my Bureau contact tells me, to the local police and the NYPD as well.
That’s great, sir, replied Joe. May I make a couple of interim suggestions?
Please do.
First, your son should record any call he gets from the extortionists. He has an iPhone?
Jon nodded energetically. Yes, he does.
Well, Apple doesn’t make it easy to record a conversation, but it can be done, essentially by the Add Call function. A tricky maneuver, but if your son is telephone savvy he’ll figure it out. He puts the caller on hold and plugs in his own cell phone—in effect calls himself—or calls one of your landlines that you dedicate to the purpose and that has a calls-will-be-answered function. If he has a problem, he should go to an Apple Store, and the people there will teach him.
There’s one in Sag, I interjected. Michael can go over there and get it done. It’s clearly very important.
Understood, Jon replied. Michael loves playing with his iPhone. I bet he can do it.
Good, Joe continued. You can see why that’s very important. And you, sir, should get a burner, a phone with a prepaid card, and use it for your telephone conversations with Captain Dana and anyone else involved in helping you with this problem.
We’ll get all that done, answered Jon. I’m most grateful for the advice. And now I’ve really got to run.
All right, Joe, thanks for everything, I said, trying to keep any hint of irony out of my voice. I’m going to accompany Mr. Krohn to the door.
May I stay on the line and have another word with you? Joe asked.
Certainly, I said.
On the way out, I gave Jon my burner number on a Post-it. Please use it for all calls, I told him.
As soon as I got back to the studio I picked up the phone and said, Joe, I’m here again, and I want to tell you that I’m really grateful for your being so helpful with Jon Krohn.
No problem, he answered. I just wanted to say this, sir, that it doesn’t matter what the management said about lifting your cover. I’m staying with you, just as before. Twenty-four seven. I also want to tell you, and this is as confidential as anything can be, that they don’t like you in some parts of our management. The idea is you have a big mouth and have been saying stuff about the president no American should say, and that you hounded a great American, Abner Brown, to his death. I think you understand what I mean.
Is this stuff coming from Texas, by any chance? I asked.
Joe chuckled. How did you guess?
Any specific ideas as to the source?
Suddenly, his voice became very serious. I don’t know the source, sir. I sure wish I did.
* * *
—
What a mess, I said to Feng. I think that Satan understands that we’ve got problems. Did you notice how quiet he has been?
He’s a very intelligent dog, sir, he replied, with strong feelings.
You’re right. I think he really needs a walk now. A good walk on the beach and a chance to run with other dogs.
Yes, sir. May I come with you? I’ll need to change shoes.
Do come, I told him. I have the feeling that something bad is brewing, and I agree with you and Joe, and Scott Prentice, that we should be very careful. What I’d call stupidly careful.
Both my uncle Harry and I were used to leaving the front door to the Sag Harbor house on the latch. At most, we locked it at night. It gave me a turn to see Feng once again set the alarm as we were leaving and lock the door.
This is crazy, I said. Nobody in this town lives like this. Perhaps an old maid or two. The windows are open. It’s easy enough to cut the mosquito netting and climb in.
That’s true, sir, but I’ve set the motion detector. Once whoever has climbed in starts moving around, the alarm will go off.
And what about going in through the garden gate and hunkering down in the studio? The door to the studio is wide open.
Sir, the garden gates are wired too. Someone can always find a way to get in, but the alarm makes it much harder.
Have it your way.
I opened the Volvo’s tailgate and told Satan, We’re going to the beach. Jump in!
“Beach” is a concept Satan understands and likes. He took off like a rocket, landed, and turned expectantly toward me.
Yes, Satan, here is a treat. You’re a good dog.
Saturday the week before Memorial Day. As you would expect, the traffic was light everywhere, even on Route 27 when we crossed it. The vegetable stand on Sagg Main had not yet opened for the season. I pointed it out to Feng and said that when it opened that was where we’d get our lettuce, vegetables, and corn, usually on our way back from the beach.
Three or four cars were parked at the entrance to Gibson Lane beach.
You’re going to like this beach, Feng, I told him, it’s the most beautiful beach in the world. Totally unspoiled. No commercial establishments, no high-rises, just rich men’s houses, and not too many of those. Anyway, most of the time there is no one living in them.
I had suddenly realized that although Feng had been to Sag Harbor before, with Heidi and me, it was in the winter, often in bad weather, and there was no reason to think he’d gotten to the beach.
What an image we present, I said to myself as we started our walk toward Peters Pond, Satan having duly pooped and the bag with his offering having been deposited in the special container for such things at the entrance to the beach. The little Frenchie scurrying around at the water’s edge, looking for mussels, crab legs, or shells that looked good to eat, his shore dinner, as Heidi and I call it; the wonderfully dignified Feng wearing his running shoes and otherwise the picture of Asiatic propriety in pressed khakis, a dark shirt, and a cotton jacket with many pockets, in one of which, I was sure, nested his Glock, loaded and ready to go; and I, taller than Feng, but hardly more intimidating in terms of easy-to-guess-at muscular mass, barefoot, in L.L. Bean shorts and an aged red polo shirt. My switchblade was in my shorts pocket. In my other pocket I had a box with Satan’s treats. Around my neck a dog whistle hung on a lanyard. I used it rarely and was proud of Satan’s response to one or at most two short blasts. Even if he was with other dogs, with a face so expressive of regret that my heart melted in sympathy, he would race toward me and a well-deserved biscuit.
I would have said something about this to Feng, but he spoke first.
This is a very beautiful place, sir, he said. It makes me long for the bay of Hong Kong and for the Beidaihe Beach in the PRC. That too is a beautiful, wide, and sandy beach. I went there as a child, before my father was disgraced during the Cultural Revolution. I’ll never see the bay again, sir, or that beach.
I’m very sorry, Feng, I replied. I should have said something about Hong Kong. Of course, I haven’t ever seen Beidaihe.
Very few foreigners have, sir. He smiled.
But I think one of these days you’ll be able to go back. Your difficulties with the PRC authorities are by now old stuff, aren’t they?
They are, sir, but memories in China are long. I was told to stop the investigation and I didn’t. I couldn’t. It wasn’t only corruption, sir; it was a brutal and cruel murder of a girl. A high official. The girl was a bar girl. He thought he could do what he wanted. After my investigation, he was convicted by a Hong Kong court, and I will never be forgiven.
